


[It’s] Hard to Say…

by jatty



Series: Dogs [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Timelines, Depression, Emotional Infidelity, Jealousy, Light BDSM, M/M, Night Terrors, Sequel, Timeline AU, Touring, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 152,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year after reuniting with the epitome of his nightmares, Gerard has managed to turn his hopes for a band into a reality. His relationship with Frank has only gotten better, even with the stress of touring in a small, cramped van. However, things might just start to change when Gerard makes a new best friend while out on tour with his young band. Will he find solace in a new future with someone else, able to escape the pain of his old memories forever by letting Frank go, or will he stay with the one person who knows him better than anyone else?</p><p>(Since this is part three of a series, reading it as a stand-alone is not advised.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. City Lights (One)

**Author's Note:**

> So, a lot of notes:
> 
> First, please don't read this without reading parts 1 & 2\. Without those the timeline will make ~~even less~~ no sense, and Gerard's attitude will probably be odd and annoying. 
> 
> Second, welcome back to those who read parts 1 & 2! I hope this story can live up to expectations. I'm pretty excited about it, and about showing Gerard in a more emotionally stable light as compared to _Dogs_ and _Rust._
> 
> Third, this fic was hard to title but I had to settle quickly so I could get the first chapter up. I took the line first from the lyrics of "The World is Ugly," but then remembered that it was conveniently a song by The Used as well. 
> 
> Happy reading!

_Chapter 1_

The bar was packed wall to wall with people and Frank kept losing his grip on Gerard’s wrist as he tried over and over to pull him to the door. Drunk as al hell, Gerard kept getting distracted by every new face that he saw—some people his mistook for friends, other people scared him immediately. Frank knew, though, that whatever happened, Gerard would eventually find his way to the door. If someone scared him badly enough, he would run for it.

“Come on,” Frank kept saying, tugging Gerard’s arm insistently. “Gerard, we gotta go.”

“I’m comin’—stop pulling! We’re having fun!” Gerard laughed at him and then wrapped his arms around Frank’s body. Even though he reeked of booze, Frank couldn’t help but laugh at him too. “We’re having fun—Frank! Let’s, let’s…”

Gerard slumped down onto him and Frank took his chance to pull Gerard out of the bar and onto the quiet, cold street. Frank rubbed Gerard’s back as he gagged while leaning against a lamp post. When he finally calmed down, Frank helped him stumble down the street toward the apartment building where Ray and the others were. 

“Wh-what…”

“Don’t worry,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder as he guided him down the sidewalk. “I’ve got you—you’re not gonna get lost.”

“Where…where are we? Frank, where _are_ we?” Gerard leaned over and rested his head against Frank’s, almost knocking his boyfriend over in the process.

“We are in Jersey…where we have been for the last week.”

“Oh! I thought—” Gerard stopped walking and doubled over laughing. “I thought we left for the city.”

“Tomorrow, Gerard,” Frank said. “Come on. Come on—I’ll get Mikey to take us home.”

“I don’t wanna go _home,_ Frank—let’s get drunk together!” 

“Gerard, you’re already drunk.” 

“No, I’m not!—I’m just a little…I’m a little fucked up, but I’m not _drunk!_ ”

“You’re drunk. Let me take you home,” Frank said, doing his best to keep Gerard moving down the sidewalk. He was almost certain that he was going to have to call Mikey to come pick them up down the street instead of in the parking lot.

“Will you love me if we go home?” Gerard slurred. He dropped to his knees on the sidewalk and Frank stopped, took out his phone, and dialed Mikey’s number.

“Of course I will,” Frank said, offering his very drunk boyfriend a smile. Gerard giggled at him and then slumped over, gagging again. “Hey, Mikey… Yeah, he didn’t make it. We’re just a few blocks away, but he’s on the ground… No, he didn’t black out. He’s just drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” Gerard called, slapping Frank’s leg.

“I _did_ cut him off—the _bar_ cut him off. I think he stole people’s drinks when their backs were turned or something… Thanks, Mikey. Yeah, I’ll keep him here.” Frank hung up and put his phone back into his pocket. “Mikey’s gonna come pick us up.”

“Is he mad?” Gerard asked, panting as he tried to keep from gagging.

“No. No he’s not mad,” Frank said, kneeling down beside Gerard and stroking his hair. “If you need to throw up, you can…throw up. I’ll hold your hair—I won’t watch.” 

Gerard shook his head and then laid himself down on the sidewalk. Frank scanned the street, looking for cop cars, but didn’t see anyone. The last thing they needed was to have Gerard arrested for public intoxication a month before touring.

“You’ve gotta stop drinking so much, Gee,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder to keep him awake as they waited for Mikey’s car. If Gerard passed out, he’d never get him in the car without having the cops called. 

“I just wanna…”

“Drink. I know…” Frank said with a sigh. He spotted headlight down the street, but the car drove past.

“Drink with me…”

“I _did_ drink with you.”

“Not enough,” Gerard moaned, rolling back and forth on the pavement. Frank stopped him, afraid he’d roll himself onto a shard of broken glass or some junkies’ discarded needle.

“What? Do you want me to be rolling on the street, too?”

“No,” Gerard mumbled, sounding like a toddler getting yelled at by a teacher. “Want to…to have fun with you.”

“We can have fun without being shitfaced together, Gerard.”

“No,” Gerard grunted, pulling away from Frank who huffed in annoyance. He didn’t typically take it personally when Gerard made comments like that, but they were starting to come closer and closer together. They couldn’t have fun unless one of them—usually Gerard—was drunk. That was Gerard’s honest opinion. Because movie nights and dates weren’t good enough now that they were always busy with the band. 

It had happened too fast and Frank was almost sure that it was going to kill Gerard. They weren’t exactly making any money from their ventures, but they got so many gigs, sold so many CDs, and had so many reps in their faces that not following through would seem like an opportunity missed. So Frank quit his good job at the diner—much to Gerard’s great pleasure—and spent nearly every hour of every day with his increasingly intoxicated boyfriend. 

The drinking certainly got worse after the CD came out—and by “came out” Frank meant got sold at gigs. The record was practically self-published, but that was fine. It gave Gerard confidence, but the confidence alone wasn’t enough to get him on stage in front of people without drinking himself into blackness. But Frank almost dared to prefer the drinking over the only other alternative—excessive weeping. 

Frank could at least handle the drinking… There was nothing more unbearable than that look of utter terror and devastation that overcame Gerard’s face at every show before he got his mouth on a bottle. It was a look that said “why did you let me do this to myself?” and Frank had no answer to that. 

Finally, Mikey’s car pulled up alongside Frank and Gerard on the road. Gerard was mostly unconscious, but Frank was able to push him into the backseat where he immediately passed out.

“I really did try to cut him off,” Frank said.

“I know. I’ve taken him out for drinks before. I know how he gets,” Mikey said, turning down the radio. 

“What am I supposed to do with him? We’re going on a tour…I don’t think he’s gonna do so well.”

“He’s a drunk, but he’ll be fine. If he starts to crack, we’ll have to quit. I’m not gonna be responsible for him committing suicide because he thinks he has no other way to get out of this.”

Frank looked into the backseat at Gerard who was moaning and scratching at the upholstery of the seat. He was still out of it, and he looked pathetic. Frank felt bad for him…

“Mikey, he never drank like this before… I’m afraid he’s just going to ruin himself before this band gets anywhere.”

“The band’s already gotten somewhere,” Mikey said. His tone was defensive, and Frank knew that Mikey loved the new band almost as much as he loved Gerard. If it was taken away from him because of Gerard’s drinking, there was no doubt that it would cause a rift between the brothers.

“And look where Gerard has ended up…he’s—”

“Drunk—he’s just drunk. He wants to drink because he has fun when he drinks.”

“He doesn’t have to think when he’s drunk. Mikey…”

“I know… But it’s what it takes for Gerard to be able to do what he does on stage. If he didn’t have it—”

“I’d rather have my boyfriend than a bottle of booze,” Frank said firmly. 

“Gerard will be fine,” Mikey mumbled. “We can always…try rationing the alcohol around him. Maybe not taking him to bars every time he asks to go.”

“It was our anniversary. He wanted to celebrate…”

“Since when do you guys ever celebrate an anniversary?”

“Since Gerard wanted to… He just picked a random day in the same month we met at the grocery store. It makes him happy…”

“That’s cute I guess…” Mikey pulled up into the driveway of Frank and Gerard’s small rental house and killed the engine. “I’ll help you get him in the house. He’s out of it.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard came to when Frank dropped down into their bed. He let their two dogs walk all over the mattress and then settled down on his side with his back to Gerard. 

Gerard watched him for a moment, hoping the room would stop spinning but knowing deep down that it never would—or at least wouldn’t for another few hours. He’d really gotten wasted this time, and because of that Frank wouldn’t even face him when they slept…

Frank _always_ slept facing his boyfriend…except for when his boyfriend was pissed drunk and reeked of booze. 

All it took was one quiet whimper—the only sound his drunken mouth could produce—and Frank rolled over to look at him. 

“Are you okay? I put some water on your nightstand,” Frank said. 

Gerard whimpered again and Frank scooted closer to him, sighing heavily in annoyance. Gerard felt dangerously close to crying, but he didn’t want to bother Frank with drunk tears. He also knew that as soon as he started weeping, he was just as likely to burst out laughing or forget to sob when Frank started consoling him. But he couldn’t help how painfully sorry he felt. It was his fault for all of this—that Frank was so tired, that Frank didn’t want to look at him, that he _so goddamned drunk…_

“It’s...” Gerard tried to say that it was their anniversary, but he started sobbing instead. There were so many better ways to spend an anniversary evening besides getting blackout drunk and being put to bed. He should’ve at least stayed sober enough to make love… _At least._

“It’s okay,” Frank said, his voice too kind. It was too nice and Gerard knew he didn’t deserve it. “Gerard…”

Frank didn’t call him pet names anymore. Not now that he was intoxicated all day every day… Gerard was frightened enough to think that Frank didn’t love him anymore, and that just made him cry harder.

Even though Frank reached out to him, Gerard nuzzled his pillow instead, crying harder when he could smell his own scent of alcohol and sweat coming from the fabric.

“Stop—Gerard, what? What’s wrong?” Frank asked, sitting up and rubbing Gerard’s shoulder. The dogs got excited by the movement and both jumped at Frank’s arm, thinking it was a game. 

“I love you,” Gerard cried, so sure that Frank was going to say ‘I hate you’ back. He felt solely responsible for ruining Frank’s life. He’d made him quit his good-paying job to pursue this strange, shaky band and now they practically faced homelessness as soon as Frank’s funds ran out. 

“Aw, I love you too,” Frank said, a smile in his voice that Gerard didn’t understand. Maybe he was just too drunk to understand… It just didn’t make sense. Nothing about _anything_ made sense. 

They’d gone from practicing in Ray’s garage to playing at a bar or two a month…then all of a sudden they were playing in skate parks and dark party venues. All of a sudden people wanted them. People asked for an album and Frank, once again, knew someone who knew someone in record labels. They had a CD. A fuckin’ _CD._ It was a dream Gerard never even fathomed would come true…People bought CDs and people wanted pictures. 

It was terrifying. Half of the time Gerard would get sick just at the thought of being on stage in front of people. He hated that he had to be drunk, but he _loved_ being drunk. It was so safe. No one ever _really_ got mad at him as long as he made it through his lines without passing out, and no one ever hurt him—that he could remember. 

That was probably the best part… The band had been growing for over a year and Gerard barely remembered any of it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard woke up with a dog in his face and no Frank in his bed. He had a raging headache that made him immediately shoved his face down into the pillows. The room still felt as if it were spinning and it only got worse when the fat pug dog started walking around on the bed around his face, making the mattress shift. 

“Frank?” Gerard called, wanting someone to take the dog away so the world would stop shaking. “Frank!”

“Heard you the first time!” Frank called from somewhere in the house. Gerard moaned and tried pulling his blankets over his face, but the fat dog made it impossible. 

“Frank…”

“I said I heard you,” Frank said, sounding closer. Gerard started groaning until the dog disappeared from in front of him and he heard it run across the bedroom floor. He opened his eyes a crack and looked up at Frank who stared at him with little amusement.

“What time is it?” Gerard asked, hoping it wouldn’t be the kind of question that would set Frank off… Sometimes Frank just got angry.

“Past noon. You need a shower. We have three hours before we have to go.”

“Frank…” Gerard moaned, reaching out for Frank’s hand. His boyfriend looked as if he were going to pull away, but in the end let Gerard take his hand. 

“You’re still drunk…”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, meaning it more than Frank could ever possibly know. He wasn’t just sorry for drinking so much the night before, the night of their assumed anniversary. He was sorry that he _had_ to drink. He was sorry he’d gotten Frank into this mess with him…

“You need to quit drinking so much, Gerard. I know you get nervous about the shows, but you can’t live this way, and I _won’t_ live this way.” It sounded like a threat to break up with him, but Gerard knew Frank would never go through with it. Especially not over something as petty as drinking… 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard repeated. He pulled on Frank’s hand, trying to get his boyfriend to sit down beside him on the bed. It didn’t work.

“I’m serious,” Frank said. “Gerard, you need to quit drinking.”

Gerard couldn’t help it when the order made him mad. Frank just didn’t understand what the booze did for him. Without it, he would never have been able to sing in front of all those people. They wouldn’t have a CD. There wouldn’t be reps in their faces every week and there wouldn’t be a _tour_ happening. If he didn’t have the drinking…he wouldn’t have anything.

“Gerard, I know that look. Don’t you give me that look…”

“What look?” Gerard asked, rolling onto his back and trying to force a look of innocence and affection onto his face. If he could get Frank to not be mad, they’d be okay…

“That look. Gerard—”

“You’re not nice to me anymore…”

“What are you talking about?” Frank asked, his face contorting with pain as if Gerard had yelled at him. 

“You’re always mad…”

“You’re always _drunk!_ You are drunk every day and I’m sick of it.”

“I love you,” Gerard said, letting Frank’s hand drop from his grasp. “Even when I’m drunk…”

“I know,” Frank said softly. “Do you…want me to meet you in the shower? You fell asleep last night before we got to celebrate our anniversary.”

“You don’t want that,” Gerard said softly.

“Gerard—”

“Stop calling me that…”

“It’s your _name._ ”

“It’s all you ever call me.” 

Frank gave Gerard this all-knowing, pitying look that turned into a weak smile.

“I love you, Sweetheart. Come on.” Frank grabbed Gerard by the hand and started pulling him up from the bed. 

Gerard had to lean on Frank for support as he staggered into the bathroom to take a shower. He had Frank wait outside the door for a moment so he could take a piss, and then pulled his boyfriend back into the room and started the shower. 

They both got undressed, but before they could step into the tub, Frank grabbed Gerard by the hips and held him still as he placed a firm kiss onto his mouth. Gerard sighed and rested his forehead against Frank’s, happy to have him close. Savoring it. He didn’t know how long it would be before they got another chance to be close like this again—they were going to be shoved into a little van together, but that didn’t leave room for real intimacy. Frank always got embarrassed if Gerard kissed him too much around the guys… Living in the van where he could touch him but never kiss him seemed like an impending torture.

Gerard didn’t want to go…

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked softly, stroking Gerard’s hips and kissing him beneath the chin.

“Cold,” Gerard said, turning away from Frank to climb into the shower. Frank followed him and grabbed Gerard by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. Gerard flinched, and as soon as Frank saw the fear he pressed another kiss onto Gerard’s lips. 

Gerard pulled away and adjusted the water to make it warmer. Frank moved to stroke Gerard’s side and hip, but when Gerard didn’t respond to the touches, Frank pulled. 

He grabbed Gerard’s arm to turn him around and then wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing as close to him as possible. Gerard whimpered softly, but didn’t fight it when Frank started kissing and nipping his neck. 

Around the same time the CD came out, Frank started realizing he didn’t have to treat Gerard like fragile glass. He was never forceful, but he could be insistent—usually only when he thought it was what Gerard wanted or needed.

Sometimes he was completely wrong, but Gerard never told him any different. He just let Frank do what he wanted, because that was the sort of relationship Gerard wanted. He knew that if he really wanted Frank to leave him alone, Frank would listen. That was all he needed. 

Gerard placed his hands carefully on Frank’s hips, careful of his newest array of tattoos. Even though they were healed, Gerard was still afraid that he would somehow scratch or damage them. Frank hummed at the contact and moved one of Gerard’s hands down across his lower abdomen to his cock. Gerard winced at the contact and Frank let him go, sighing softly and kissing Gerard under the chin again.

“Come here,” Frank said, his voice low but gentle. Gerard crept closer to him under the stream of water and nuzzled Frank’s damp hair. He was still a little disoriented from the booze, but he didn’t want to let it show. Part of him was still afraid that Frank would get angry and push him away—maybe literally push him down in the shower. 

Frank tilted up his head until Gerard finally gave him another kiss and then took Gerard’s cock into his hand, stroking it a few times before deepening the kiss and backing Gerard into the shower wall. 

“I love you,” Gerard panted, squirming as Frank turned him around to face the wall. Gerard rested his cheek against the smooth plastic, his fingers splayed to brace him as Frank lined up behind him. They kept a bottle of lube in the shower, and Frank poured some of the liquid on his fingers, careful to shield it from the rain of the shower, and pressed two into Gerard at once. Gerard moaned softly and pressed his face harder against the wall. 

Frank worked the fingers in and out a few times before he began to curl them, searching for Gerard’s prostate. As soon as he brushed against it, Gerard moaned against and fell harder against the slippery shower wall. Frank kissed the side of his neck as he started scissoring the fingers and pushed in a third. Gerard did his best to keep his body relaxed as Frank prepped him, but it still felt like an eternity before Frank pulled away and slicked his cock with the lube. 

There was a very brief amount of time before Frank had pressed all of the way inside, knowing that if he stalled the water would wash the lubricant away. The fast pace was the sort of roughness Gerard loved, even if Frank always apologized for it. 

With the rush of the shower overhead, it was easy for Gerard to ignore him when he said he was sorry. He could focus instead on the feeling of the warm water running over his body as it poured off of Frank. Instead of suffering from the slow, deep throb in his brain, he could relish the fast pace Frank set up—rubbing him raw from the inside out. 

Frank let out a low moan, bringing Gerard back to the sound of his partner’s voice. Gerard let his head slide against the shower wall, trying to look at Frank without having to pick himself up. Noticing him, Frank leaned forward, wrapping his arm around Gerard’s waist at the same time as he pressed their lips together. Gerard sucked on Frank’s tongue and cried out when started stroking him in time with his thrusts.

Gerard pressed back against his boyfriend’s chest, moaning every time Frank’s cock struck against his prostate. Frank kept kissing him, even when Gerard was practically screaming into his mouth. 

“You look so fuckin’ hot right now,” Frank moaned, pulling away when Gerard tried to kiss him again. Gerard gasped in surprise when Frank tangled the fingers of his free hand in Gerard’s hair and pulled his head back, making him lean against Frank’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Gerard moaned, crying out when Frank nipped at the skin of his neck. “Love you!”

“I love you too, Babe,” Frank breathed, letting go of Gerard’s hair and thrusting into him harder. Gerard choked on a mixed cry and pressed his face against the shower wall again. Frank grabbed onto Gerard’s hip to hold him still when Gerard tried thrusting forward against Frank’s firmly stroking hand. 

No matter how much Gerard moaned or mewled, Frank wouldn’t let him go. Gerard whimpered and pressed back against Frank, trying to force him deeper even though Frank was thrusting as hard as he could.

After a few more direct hits to his sweet spot, Gerard’s legs almost gave out. He gasped and fell against the slick wall, fumbling until Frank caught him and pinned him. At first, Gerard started resisting him, not liking the feel of being forced up against the wall, but when Frank kissed him gently on the cheek and made his thrusts slower and more gentle. 

“Okay?” Frank asked, licking the shell of Gerard’s ear and earning a deep moan in response. Gerard let his body go slack against the wall as Frank rammed into him. As soon as he’d recovered from nearly falling to the floor of the bathtub, Gerard was back on the edge. He was moaned against the cool wall of the shower and let his mind go bleary as the pleasure overcame him. 

He came into Frank’s hand, moaning from the spatter of heat and shuddering as Frank continued to move inside of him. His boyfriend mumbled something about how good it felt, or how much Frank loved how tight it was, but Gerard could barely hear him over the shower and his own labored breaths.

How long was it going to be before they got to be together like this again? They kept their relationship a secret in public—just to help the band—and though there were bound to be chances to take showers when on tour, they’d never get the opportunity to take one together…

“You okay?” Frank asked. 

Gerard groaned when he felt Frank pull out and he quickly shook his head.

“Finish,” Gerard breathed. “I’m okay.”

“I-I did,” Frank said, giggling in his shrill way and pressing a fast kiss onto Gerard’s cheek. “You’re cute—was I really that good?”

“I guess,” Gerard said, turning slowly away from the shower wall. He slumped down against Frank how laughed while hugging him and kissed him on the side of the head. 

“Come on. I’ll wash your hair if you wash mine.” Frank gave a weak impression of a seductive look and Gerard couldn’t help but smile. 

It was the little moments like this that made Gerard desperate to have Frank with him twenty-four seven. When Frank worked all week, he came home tired and angry. He wanted his shower and he wanted to sleep. Sometimes he’d be in the right mood and would sweet and happy, but most of the time he just went through the motions without showing any genuine happiness at all. 

Frank’s true adoration only showed when Gerard was able to act normal around him, and Gerard could only do that when he wasn’t afraid of having to spend hours upon hours waiting for him to come home. He hated that he pined for Frank, but he couldn’t help it. He loved his boyfriend—he loved him more than anyone or anything else. All he wanted was to be with him and create music with him…

“I love you,” Gerard said, shivering when Frank started working a cold glob of shampoo through his hair. 

“I love you, too—but you’re not getting out of the shower and the water is getting cold so we need to hurry.” Frank smiled as he said it, knowing it would keep Gerard calm. “You still look tired.”

“Of course I’m tired,” Gerard said, pouring some shampoo into his hands so he could start washing Frank’s hair for him. 

“Come on, I hardly made you do any work,” Frank said, pushing Gerard carefully back a step so he could rinse his hair.

“Speak for yourself,” Gerard said, spitting water and suds out of his mouth. “Getting fucked is a lot of work.”

“I dunno—I don’t think so.”

“That’s because you don’t do it a lot,” Gerard mumbled, shaking the water off of his head and trading places with Frank in the shower so Frank could rinse his hair. “You always top.”

“You always want me to.”

“Well, I like it… Get over it.”

Frank started giggling as he began washing his skin, and Gerard just shook his head. 

Outside, their two dogs began barking and could be heard running from one room into the next, chasing each other. Frank mumbled something about how funny their dogs were, and Gerard watched with a twinge of pain as Frank’s face drooped slightly. 

When they went out to tour, Frank’s mother was going to watch the dogs. Gerard could see how sad it made Frank to have to leave his pets behind. If there was anything Frank loved other than Gerard, it was Bear and Pig.

Before the band took off, Frank had even started talking about getting another one—because maybe the two they had had gotten tired of each other’s company and needed a new friend. 

Frank loved his dogs enough that sometimes Gerard was jealous, but Gerard felt that he would rather stay home with Frank baby-talking their dogs all day than leave home for the band and have to pretend that he and Frank weren’t in love…


	2. City Lights (Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Sorry for the long delay in posting this new chapter. I haven't forgotten about this fic or any other story--I've just been busy and suffering from some technical difficulties. Now that everything is back on track, I should be able to post a little more regularly. Though the quality of this chapter suffered a little bit with my push to get it written and posted, the next one will be much better since the action truly starts in chapter three. Enjoy!

_Chapter 2_

Gerard no less than broke on their second week in the van. They were on their way to Atlanta where they would gather with the other bands for a week before the first show of the tour. Preparations were still ongoing for their second CD, and when he couldn’t think of the lyrics for the last few songs Gerard lost it. 

One moment he was fine, staring down the pages of his notebook. He’d been chewing on the end of his pen, leaning back against Frank’s shoulder—even nuzzling him once in a while. Then, all at once, he burst into tears and threw the notebook down onto the floor. Ray, who had been driving, almost swerved off road when Gerard’s shrill cries began so abruptly. 

Frank tried to console him, but as soon as he touched Gerard it made it all worse. Gerard recoiled from him and started clawing at his hair—moaning that it was impossible, all impossible. That he couldn’t write—that he’d never been able to write. That he didn’t want to—he couldn’t do it. 

Mikey even tried to get Gerard to calm down, but his brother wouldn’t listen. He knew too well how important it was that the lyrics were finished before they reached Atlanta. As soon as they were to arrive, they were scheduled to go into the studio to record the rest of the tracks for the new CD. Frank had known that signing to a label would be too much for Gerard… 

After nearly forty minutes of non-stop wailing, Gerard went quiet as abruptly as he’d started screaming. He took in a shaking breath and just…stopped. He was wrapped up in his own arms, his knees pressed tightly against his chest, and though he was shaking he didn’t make another sound for over an hour. 

“Sweetheart,” Frank said when the silence became too much. He leaned over and put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder, flinching when Gerard jerked away from him. “It’ll be okay, Gerard.”

Gerard acted as if he hadn’t heard, but when the van hit a pothole at the end of an exit ramp, Gerard fell back against Frank. Not missing the opportunity, Frank held Gerard securely and refused to let go even though Gerard fought him at first.

“You just need to relax,” Frank whispered, kissing Gerard on the cheek. His boyfriend whimpered quietly before finally relaxing against Frank’s chest. For the next two hours—before a stop for fuel and food—Gerard laid against Frank and trembled. 

Gerard bought two large cans of beer at the gas station when they stopped and chugged them both before following the rest of his band members into the diner beside the station. Frank tried to get Gerard to eat, but he merely picked at his meal. 

He took the food to-go but made Frank carry it so he could duck into the gas station for one more beer (which he swallowed in about three gulps). Though it was Frank’s turn to drive, Gerard was able to drunkenly pressure Mikey into driving and spent the rest of the night lying with his head in Frank’s lap. 

“You should sing to me,” Gerard mumbled after a while, pawing at Frank’s knee insistently until his boyfriend paid him more attention. 

“What should I sing?—The national anthem, perhaps?” Frank asked, trying to show humor even though he was becoming agitated with Gerard’s drunken state. “Oh, I know…the intro song to _Friends._ ”

“No,” Gerard said, laughing and rolling over so his face was buried in Frank’s stomach. 

“Do you want me to sing—”

“Just sing to me,” Gerard moaned, nuzzling Frank’s stomach and giggling. Frank started petting his hair and met Mikey’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. It was the sort of gaze that said “if you start singing, I’m pulling over and kicking your ass.”

“You’re the singer, Gerard. I sound like a dying cat—that’s why I’m backup vocals,” Frank said, smiling as Gerard pawed at him. When he was tipsy-drunk over shitfaced-drunk, he was cute and playful. 

If tipsy was all Gerard ever needed to calm down and perform, everything would be fine. But a few drinks couldn’t get Gerard on stage. He needed liquor—lots of liquor—and he needed to be close to passing out before he could even look out at a crowd. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard finished the lyrics to the final song on their second album a half hour before they arrived outside of the large building. Their manager was supposed to be there as well as everyone else who was working on the tour and the label, and because of that Frank had made sure that Gerard got nowhere within reach of alcohol. He was forcibly kept sober and it made him both angry and anxious. 

He was bad at meeting people, and even though he had Frank and the others to keep him safe, meeting with strange men never exactly made him feel _comfortable._

It also didn’t help when he reached out to hold Frank’s hand only to have his partner pull it away. 

“No, Gerard—not here. Remember?” Frank whispered. 

Gerard lowered his head and fought back tears. He was so nervous and even though he knew Frank wasn’t saying it to hurt him, all he wanted was his boyfriend’s support. 

“I don’t want to go,” Gerard whispered, staring at Frank’s hand—wishing he could just hold it, just for a second. 

“It’ll be okay. I know you’re nervous, but I promise it’ll all be fine,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder. As if that touch could make up for all of the intimacy they’d been forced to abandon.

“It’s not fine,” Gerard whispered. He wanted to be stronger, but it was Frank who gave him his strength and Frank was holding it all back. 

“Look, while we’re waiting for everything to get started, we’re going to have hotel rooms—”

“I don’t want to fuck—I want you to love me!” Gerard cried, keeping his voice low enough that no one would overhear, but insistent enough that Frank believed him. 

“Gerard, I’m telling you we’re going to have time to be alone together—to regroup. That way you can talk to me and not have to…get drunk every night,” Frank said, shaking his head. Gerard knew it was hard for Frank to see him drinking every night, but Frank just didn’t understand how much he _needed_ the booze. If it weren’t for the courage the drinks gave him, Gerard would never be able to make it on stage to sing. 

Without the mind-numbing alcohol, there was no way Gerard could face the horrible demons in his songs. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Gerard repeated. 

“It’s too late for that,” Frank said. “The guys are counting on you and you know it’ll just hurt you worse if you back out now. I don’t mean to guilt you, but this is…this is what you wanted.”

“I just wanted to be with you,” Gerard whispered, knowing that Frank was right. His desperation to have Frank’s constant attention appeared to only lead him down a much more terrifying path than he’d imagined. 

“I know, Gerard,” Frank mumbled. “We’ll talk about it more in the hotel, okay?”

“Frank,” Gerard pleaded, not sure what he was begging for. Frank apparently didn’t either, because he started walking away. Gerard followed him with his head bowed down, and when they were inside the building he took to following Mikey instead of his lover. 

It was probably better for their image anyway—people couldn’t know that he loved Frank and everything about their life together had to be hidden. In time, Gerard would end up hiding it from himself as well.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank was impressed at how well Gerard handled meeting with all of the tour’s most important men. After he was faced with shaking the hands of about twelve different people in a twenty-minute timespan, Gerard lost his deer-in-headlights look and started to warm up. He seemed to develop a little bit of a connection with their sound technician, but still tried to avoid speaking directly to their tour manager as best he could.

There was a set time that they would break off from the tour to go into the studio to officially record some of the new songs they were touring with, but otherwise it was a promise of constant travel. Frank didn’t know how well Gerard would handle it, but after seeing how he coped with the introductions he had hopes that he’d endure it. 

At first, Frank was surely convinced that the sessions had taken their toll on Gerard. He was prepared to have Gerard throw himself on their hotel bed and begin weeping. However, the moment their hotel door was open, it was Gerard’s other half that came through.

Sometimes that other side brought rage and hatred—other times it was just pure, crazy, desperate lust.

Gerard slammed the door shut using Frank’s back as he crashed into him, pressing their chests together as he leaned down and captured Frank’s lips. Frank tried to speak—something between a question and an exclamation—but Gerard just invaded his mouth with his tongue. When Frank lifted his hands, trying to place them on Gerard’s biceps to pull him closer, Gerard took it as an act of resistance and groaned deep in his throat before slamming Frank once—forcefully—back against the door. 

He never took his lips off of Frank’s. He just kept sliding their tongues together and sucking on Frank’s bottom lip. 

When finally, _finally_ Gerard stopped and let Frank breathe, the only words out of his mouth were, “you should get on the bed.” 

Frank, half-intrigued and still half-terrified, listened and slipped off his shoes while moving over to the queen-sized hotel bed.

“I put our lube in the inside pocket of your suitcase,” Frank said quickly as he crawled onto the bed, looking over his shoulder at Gerard. When he got pushy, Gerard always tried to get away with not using lube…always. Frank wasn’t really prepared to let that happen. Once Gerard started, it was impossible to get him to stop. 

Gerard stared at Frank for a moment, panting as he tried to catch his breath, and then turned his head almost eerily slowly to look down at the suitcase he’d dropped when they came through the door.

“And the condoms…” Frank added, swallowing hard. He wasn’t _afraid_ of Gerard—but he did make him nervous on nights when the fear Gerard felt turned to frustration. 

Gerard shook his head as if dispelling the lusty haze in his eyes and then looked back up at Frank.

“Right… Sorry. I’m just… Right.” Gerard knelt down and slowly started unzipping his suitcase. His fingers were shaking and Frank could see all the fear and tension return to his lover’s face. When he found the compartment with the condoms and lubricant, he grabbed them both quickly and hurried toward the bed. 

“You wanna be on top, Baby?” Frank said quickly when Gerard started climbing onto the mattress. 

“I… No—I don’t know!” Gerard groaned again and tossed the lubricant and box of condoms aside before grabbing Frank by the face and forcing their mouths together again. He didn’t use force to cause pain—at least not on nights when he was desperate instead of angry—and Frank knew that as long as he let Gerard call the shots (whether he was on top or not) no one would get injured. 

As long as Frank didn’t make a big deal out of it, everything would be okay.

“I like having you on top,” Frank said, putting on a seductive. He knew it would keep Gerard calm. Seduction encompassed love and happiness—emotions Gerard wanted to see instead of concern and fear. Seduction didn’t leave room for Gerard to feel guilt or anxiety. It proved he was wanted, _needed._ It showed how much focus Frank had on him and let them both escape from their scary world for a little while. 

“I want—Just… Frank!” Gerard made a noise like a growl and pressed his face down into Frank’s shoulder. Frank quickly wrapped his arms around Gerard’s back and squeezed tightly, kissing Gerard’s neck until he heard a satisfying little sigh escape Gerard’s lips.

“I’ve got you—it’ll be okay,” Frank said. He kept his voice a low whisper and finished his sentence by nipping on the lobe of Gerard’s left ear. His boyfriend gasped softly and then pressed his hips down against Frank’s firmly. 

With a few quick motions, they were both undressed and Gerard had flipped them so he was lying flat against the mattress with Frank over top of him. Frank placed a few open-mouthed kissed from the bottom of Gerard’s collar bone up to the curve of his jaw, and Gerard’s growls turned to mewls of needy pleasure.

The noises didn’t stop until Frank finally lined up and pressed inside, barely able to do any prep since Gerard kept huffing impatiently. Once he was inside, Frank pressed in all the way to the hilt, pausing only briefly before pulling back out.

When he wasn’t panting or mewling, Gerard attached his lips to Frank’s neck—kissing, sucking, nipping. Every now and then he’d clench down on Frank’s member, making him moan and heightening the sensation. 

Frank tried to press kisses onto Gerard’s lips as he pressed himself in deeper, but Gerard would always duck or turn away. Sometimes he’d kiss Frank’s neck or other times he would just keep moaning and panting, lips too far apart to kiss. 

As Frank set up a steady rhythm, Gerard began to rock back against the thrusts. His moans became almost too shrill too soon, and Frank wasn’t sure that Gerard was going to last very long. 

“Tell me you love me,” Gerard moaned, bringing his arms up from the sheets in order to dig his nails into Frank’s back. “Just—just say it. Say you love me.”

“You know I love you,” Frank breathed. “I love you, Gerard.”

Gerard let out another shrill, almost sad sound and Frank bowed his head to kiss and suck at Gerard’s throat. 

“I love you, Sweetheart,” Frank whispered, keeping his lips close to Gerard’s ear and kissing the shell. “You’re so beautiful—so perfect.” He was unable to choke back an undignified groan when Gerard clenched down on him again—body and nails. 

“Tell me you want me,” Gerard said, panting as he arched his back on the bed. 

“You know I want you, Baby—Couldn’t make it without you,” Frank said, grabbing Gerard’s thigh and pushing back his leg. Gerard sighed and arched his back even further. Frank wrapped his hand firmly around Gerard’s cock and began pumping it quickly. 

Gerard let out a loud cry and dug his nails even harder into Frank’s shoulder, breaking the skin when he dragged his nails down his spine. Within a few more firm strokes and deep thrusts, Gerard spilled his seed into Frank’s hand, spattering it against both of their chests. 

Frank moaned and buried his face in Gerard’s neck, sucking on Gerard’s pulse as he thrust into the tight heat. It wasn’t long before he finished too, collapsing onto Gerard’s chest. When he tried to pull out, Gerard groaned and wrapped his legs around Frank’s hips—keeping him trapped.

“You know we have to take a shower,” Frank said, supporting his weight with one arm while using his free hand to brush Gerard’s sweaty bangs out of his face. 

Gerard’s eyes were closed tightly as if he were in pain, but no sounds besides heavy breaths escaped his lips. 

“Come on,” Frank pressed after nearly five minutes when Gerard’s breathing had slowed and his eyes finally slid open. “I’ll go with you,” he added, smiling even though Gerard just stared. 

“I don’t remember why I wanted this,” Gerard whispered, closing his eyes again and turning his face away.

“So we could be together all the time, remember?” Frank said, not letting any emotions slip into his voice that would cause distress. It was bothersome that Gerard pushed so hard to start a band and then realized he didn’t really want it—but Frank would never punish him for that or call him out on it. Gerard was trying so hard to adapt to a normal life, and Frank wanted to play the role of the respectful, supportive boyfriend.

If it got to be too much for Gerard to take, of course Frank would make him back out of the tour, but until that moment came—until the drinking became too much or turned back into addiction—Frank was willing to stay silent. He would speak his words of love, but not much else. 

He loved Gerard. More than anything…


	3. Light the Fire

_Chapter 3_

Frank awoke in the middle of the night as Gerard crawled slowly back into the bed. He wasn’t sure when Gerard had left, but the alarm clock on the bedside table blared 3:44 AM in angry red dashes. Gerard’s skin was cold as he cuddled into Frank’s side, and he shivered a few times before finally lying still.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked, not sure whether Gerard had gotten up to use the bathroom or if he’d left the room altogether to go exploring the hotel or even the parking lot…

Hopefully, though, he hadn’t gone looking for a bar…

“Couldn’t sleep,” Gerard breathed.

“Where’d you go?” Frank asked, trying to make his voice sound extra sleepy just so Gerard wouldn’t feel attacked.

“Walked around the building… Sat in the parking lot for a while. I got nervous so I came back in,” Gerard said. He didn’t sound distressed, just exhausted. He needed to make himself sleep, but Frank understood that changing locations and sleeping in strange beds always gave Gerard nightmares.

He really wished Gerard would just let Frank comfort him like before. He still tried so hard to hide it when he had his night terrors and Frank didn’t understand… 

“You need some sleep, Sweetheart,” Frank mumbled, cuddling against Gerard’s shoulder and laying an arm carefully across his chest. Gerard sighed softly and nestled closer against Frank under the warm blankets.

“We’ll be okay, right? When we’re on tour…”

“It’ll be okay,” Frank said. “When we’re in public we’ll have to keep our distance, but once we’re in the van we can kiss and hug or whatever else you want. And…when we have hotels we’ll make the most of it, okay?”

“What if I drink too much and do something stupid?” Gerard asked, true concern breaking through his tired voice.

“Then we’ll work through it,” Frank said gently. “I know what stress does to you, and I’m not going to abandon you because of mistakes you might make.”

“Do you really mean that?” Gerard whispered.

“Yes,” Frank said, knowing it was true. He had many expectations for what would happen on tour—aside from Gerard drinking himself into an early grave or getting involved in drugs again. Frank planned for depression, he planned for getting attacked for saying the wrong thing, he even planned for the moment when Gerard would get wooed by some overenthusiastic fan. Even though Frank didn’t _want_ anything to go wrong between them, he wasn’t going to hold it over Gerard’s head forever if something did. Gerard had enough problems. He didn’t need anything else to feel guilty about.

“I’m so afraid I’m going to let everyone down,” Gerard whispered. “I _pushed_ and _pushed_ for this, but…I don’t know if I can handle it.”

“It’s hard for all of us,” Frank said softly. “You don’t need to put all of the weight on yourself. Mikey and Ray, they wanted this as bad as you. You’re not alone in this.”

“Is this what _you_ wanted?” 

“I wanted to give it a try, and…and if it starts to be too much for you, I’ll leave it with you. No one expects you to torture yourself if it doesn’t work out. We’re all just trying it on…”

The words seemed to be what Gerard wanted—to know that he wasn’t going to be ridiculed if his fear took over. He let out a soft, almost sad, sigh and then fell asleep against Frank’s shoulder. 

As he slept, Frank gingerly brushed some of the hair out of Gerard’s face and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. He had all the affection in the world for Gerard. If only Gerard could realize that… After all they’d been through together, he should’ve realized it by now, but Frank was patient. If Gerard needed more reassurance, Frank would give him whatever he needed.

( ) ( ) ( )

The second time Frank awoke, jarred back to consciousness by the blaring alarm clock on the bedside table, the space next to him in the bed was empty. After silencing the alarm, Frank peered around the room through bleary eyes, squinting against the harsh lights. 

Gerard was sitting in the chair by the window, his legs crossed with one of his knees serving as a desk for his bent-up notebook. He was scribbling down lyrics and would every once in a while hum a soft tune, as if the screeching of the alarm hadn’t even been enough to break his concentration. 

Knowing better than to interrupt him—especially when his work was so important—Frank nestled back down in the bed and watched his boyfriend work. It was one of the few times he could just observe Gerard without having the “what are you staring at” and “why are you looking at me like that” conversations. Frank could just silently admire the way Gerard’s brow creased when he was focused, the way he’d chew on his lip and his pen cap… Watching Gerard be mesmerized was in and of itself mesmerizing. 

Without taking his eyes off his paper, Gerard reached over to the small table beside his chair and picked up a cup of coffee which he sipped from for a few seconds before hastily setting it back down and scratching out a line on his notebook. The abandoned lines were quickly replaced with something else and then Gerard was looking up from the page and staring directly at Frank.

“I got you one too,” Gerard said. For a moment Frank just stared at him, not exactly sure what he meant. “It’s right by the clock. Didn’t you see it?”

Frank took another look at the end table and saw a white Styrofoam cup with a heart drawn on it in black ink. He smiled softly and took the cup in his hands. It was still hot so Gerard couldn’t have been back for too long.

“When did you get up?” Frank asked, sipping from the cup and watching as Gerard turned back to his work.

“About an hour ago. I couldn’t really sleep… I don’t think I ever really slept. I don’t know, I’m still really tired,” Gerard mumbled. He went back to writing and Frank fell silent, letting him work in peace. They needed the lyrics to be finished since they were expected to get some recording done before the tour actually began. 

After a little while, Gerard capped his pen and tossed the notebook over onto the bed.

“What do you think?”

Frank picked up the notebook and looked over the new lyrics Gerard had written that morning and the corrections he’d made. Everything was looking a lot better than it had before when Gerard was trying to write in the van. Having some alone time and actually getting a bed to sleep in had done wonders for his creative mind and it really showed in his work. 

“These look really good, Gerard,” Frank said, taking another sip from his coffee. “ _Really_ good.”

“I showed some to Mikey earlier… I ran into him at the coffee shop.”

“You went together?” Frank asked.

“No, he just happened to be there. Guess we had the same idea… You’d think we were related or something,” Gerard added with a laugh. 

“What did Mikey think?” Frank asked.

“He was in a mood. It’s hard to tell.” Immediately, Frank was able to tell that Mikey’s negative mood had affected Gerard more than he was wanting to let on. “He was tired too. The coffee helped a little.”

“I feel like I’m the only one around here who got any sleep,” Frank mumbled. 

“You and Ray,” Gerard said. “Mikey said Ray kept him and Bob up with his snoring.”

“Remind me not to room with him if we have a fight,” Frank said, laughing and passing Gerard a gentle look so he knew he didn’t intend to start a fight anytime soon.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Gerard said, laughing a little. He set his coffee aside and got up from the chair. After stretching his arms out a little, Gerard crawled onto the bed beside Frank and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. “I was afraid I woke you up when I left this morning.”

“No, I slept through it. I was really tired,” Frank said. He gave Gerard a quick kiss on the lips and smiled as Gerard nestled down beside him. 

“I’m tired…”

“You don’t have time to sleep now,” Frank said gently, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder to keep him awake. 

“I know,” Gerard moaned, curling up against Frank regardless and sighing heavily. 

“Are you feeling okay to record today?” Frank asked.

“Not like I have much choice,” Gerard whispered. “I’ll be fine… I’m too tired to even give a shit anymore. I had a bed, Frank—Why couldn’t I just sleep?”

“We still have a few days before we have to leave… You’ll be so tired tonight; you’ll get all the sleep you need.”

“I hope so,” Gerard mumbled, burying his face in Frank’s side. 

“If not, I can always help tire you out,” Frank said, chuckling and nuzzling Gerard’s head. “I can give you a preview now if you want one,” he added, kissing Gerard on top of his head. 

“No… I’m—It’s not _you._ I’m just tired. I’m…I’m stressed.”

“It’s okay,” Frank said, holding Gerard close. “Do you want to get lunch soon?”

“Maybe,” Gerard mumbled. After a moment he sighed and started rubbing at his face. “All I really want is a drink…”

“Maybe after we record we can hit a bar for dinner,” Frank said with a sigh. Fighting about Gerard’s drinking hours before going into the studio was not the best of ideas. Even if taking him to a bar was more or less enabling, Frank didn’t want to push the issue and make Gerard snap. They didn’t have time for Gerard to snap… The band needed him to keep it together, and sometimes the alcohol appeared to be the only thing around strong enough to keep him in line. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Their time in the studio went surprisingly well for how bad of a mood Mikey was in for the duration. Though he claimed he loved the band and would do anything to see it succeed, he walked off twice and Gerard was the only one who could get him to see reason and come back. Why he was mad, no one was exactly certain—though Gerard repeatedly insisted to Frank that it was due to lack of sleep. 

They’d gotten three songs recorded successfully after some technical difficulties (and Mikey’s attitude), and Gerard hadn’t let Frank forget his promise to take him to a bar for late dinner so he could get the drink “he deserved.”

Not knowing the area, Frank asked around the studio for a recommendation of a safe place to go for drinks where two men who looked like they belonged in a punk band wouldn’t get the shit kicked out of them. Frank, used to standing up for himself against thugs and assholes after growing up in Jersey, wasn’t afraid for himself. He was afraid for Gerard who gave off an air of insecurity. To thugs, in a dive bar, he would be like blood in shark-infested water.

After a little asking around, Frank was referred to a bar and grill where one of the other bands going on the tour would be playing an under-reported show that night. Frank didn’t bother to ask what the band was, but if they were going on tour with the rest, they were probably at a punk-friendly bar.

When they arrived at the bar, the stage at the back of the room was still empty, but there was a small, chalkboard sign that had “Next Performance 8:00” written on it. It was only a few minutes past seven, but once Gerard saw the sign he whispered to Frank that he would be interested in at least hearing a little bit of the show before leaving. 

Gerard was nervous as he maneuvered the bar behind Frank. He shrunk into himself when they sat at the table, and when the waiter asked what they wanted for drinks Frank had to order Gerard’s beer for him.

“The prices here are reasonable too,” Frank mumbled as he looked over the menu. He was trying hard to get Gerard to calm down enough to enjoy himself and was listing pleasant things about the bar. It was a clean place with a normal crowd. Some of the sound techs Frank had seen working in the studio where there with women, and it seemed like the sort of place locals visited as well. The décor was comprised of photographs—of course most of the pictures were of famous musicians who had been at the studio and stopped by for a drink—and motorcycle paraphernalia. The electronic jukebox on the wall was playing hard rock at an offensively low volume for rock, and the crowd was all being well behaved…

And still, _still_ Gerard looked petrified. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Frank asked. “You never act like this in the bars back home…”

“There’s just… There’s too many men here. I’ll…I’ll have a drink and I’ll be fine,” Gerard said, shaking his head. 

When the waiter returned with the drinks, Gerard took a long drink from the bottle of beer as Frank ordered a meal of loaded potato skins without bacon and a side of onion rings. Once Frank had placed his order, Gerard was able to order for himself and looked at Frank guiltily as he ordered a cheese burger and fries. There were no real vegetarian options on the menu, and Frank wasn’t going to let Gerard feel guilty for indulging in “real” food because nothing was satisfying to him. 

“I’m sorry—I’m just really hungry,” Gerard said, scratching at his wrists anxiously before grabbing up his beer and finishing the bottle in a few quick gulps. It was depressing how fast he would drink when he tried to get drunk. 

“It’s fine,” Frank said, giving Gerard a gentle smile. “You can eat meat if you want to. It doesn’t bother me.”

“I just know how you feel about it,” Gerard mumbled.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Frank repeated. Gerard had been put through enough hell in his life. He deserved to eat slaughtered animals if he wanted to. “I just want you to get enough to eat and be able to relax tonight.”

“I wonder what band is playing,” Gerard said, turning to look at the sign on the stage. 

“I heard it’s someone on tour with us,” Frank said. Instead of a beer, he ordered himself a soda in fear that Gerard would get shitfaced and he’d have to help him get back to the hotel. It was best for Frank to be sober when Gerard got loaded—it made it easier to pick him up off the floor.

“Oh, that’ll be cool,” Gerard said, a little bit of light coming back to his eyes. Frank couldn’t help but smile, even if he knew that the night was going to end in nothing but drunken sorrow. 

When their food came out, Gerard ordered two more beers and gave Frank a small smile. It wasn’t nearly enough alcohol to get him drunk and he seemed to think that Frank would actually believe that he wouldn’t break down and order more before the night was through. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert McCracken wasn’t exactly proud to be playing a secret show at the little bar near the recording studio. It wasn’t that he’d gotten a big head after getting signed, releasing albums, and spending most of his summers playing in different cities across the country. He didn’t like to think of himself as an egomaniac, but when he played show, he thought he deserved to have an audience that expected to see him. 

But the label pushed him to perform for very, _very_ little money at the local venue to surprise locals and somehow get people pumped for the start of the latest tour. 

When he entered the bar with his band, going through the front door even though the techs had all told him to go through the back so they could be all dramatic or whatever the fuck the label wanted, the first thing Bert noticed was that half the people in the place were from the record company or involved in the tour. 

Why the fuck was his band being made to perform for the staff of the tour? It was stupid. He didn’t have a big head, but he was worth more than this…

“I knew we shoulda called some people,” Jepha said. He sounded just as discouraged as Bert felt as he surveyed the small crowd. “This place is dead…”

“It’s not too late,” Quinn muttered, punching something in on his cell phone. “I don’t want to play for sound guys.”

“Call some people,” Bert said with a sigh. “We haven’t played for a crowd this small since—”

“Since Utah,” Jepha said, laughing and slugging Bert on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some drinks before we light this place up.”

“I’ll order some beer for Dan when he gets here,” Quinn said. He went over to the bar while Bert and Jepha walked over to the stage. 

It was on his way over to that little stage that reminded Bert of so many other little stages he’d played on that an androgynous little person caught his eye. She, or maybe it was a he, was sitting across from some tattooed punk with a faux-hawk and baggy jeans. After looking at the person for _maybe_ a little too long, the pretty thing with the long black hair and baggy, striped sweater looked up at him. Bert gave the guy—he guessed it was a guy because he knew no girls who drank three bottles of beer with a cheese burger—a wink and stepped up onto the stage.

( ) ( ) ( )

“He gets _me!_ No—No, Frank! He _gets_ me!”

Gerard was drunk. Of course he was drunk. Because as soon as the band started playing all of these people came in off the streets—most of them women which gave Gerard the added comfort—Gerard started ordering mixed drinks, since crowds regardless of gender gave him anxiety. And anxiety made him drink. 

“Gerard, come on—it’s going on ten thirty. Let’s go,” Frank said. He’d been trying to get Gerard to leave for over half an hour, but the band—The Used—kept playing and playing. And for some strange reason Gerard thought the songs spilling out of the intoxicated—or high—singer’s mouth had something to do with him. 

“But, Frank, I’m having a good time! I wanna have a good time—please? They’re gonna play another song! He’s gonna play another song…” The last sentence nearly turned into a cry and Frank let go of Gerard’s wrist. He wasn’t going to be able to forcibly pull him through the crowd and out the door, and even if he did all he’d get is yelled at for his efforts.

“Fine… Two more songs, then we’re leaving. Alright?”

“But I wanna meet him! Frank, I wanna meet him—he’s so cool!”

“He’s on tour with us,” Frank said, trying to get Gerard to understand that this wasn’t the last time he’d see the scraggly, unwashed lead singer of The Used…

“He _gets_ me!” Gerard called, making his voice louder to reach over top the fresh strumming of the electric guitar.

“How the hell does he—” Frank’s question was interrupted as Gerard pulled away and returned to the front of the crowd around the stage. It was so rare to see Gerard confident in crowd… Maybe it was because the crowd was mostly female, but Gerard was never so bold before. Even in bars he knew well. Something about it just made Frank nervous.

So The Used played their next two songs and then more and more until Frank gave up. He told Gerard he was leaving and Gerard told him he should go—that he was a buzz kill and that he’d see him back in the hotel. He told Frank not to worry. He had money for a cab back and he wasn’t _that_ drunk even though his words were slurring and he had trouble standing up.

So, a little more frustrated than heartbroken, Frank left Gerard at the bar and only paid for his half of the meal. Initially he wanted to pay for Gerard as well, but since Gerard wanted to stay all night, Frank no longer cared. Gerard could pay for himself…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard felt bad when Frank left—he _really_ did. Not because he was drunk, but because he really wished Frank could appreciate that this was as close to a date as they were going to get before tour and it made him sad that Frank left so early… He wanted Frank to have a good time too. At first, he thought if he showed interest in the performance then Frank’s mood would get a little better, but his boyfriend stayed unhappy and Gerard couldn’t fathom why. 

He guessed Frank had a right to be annoyed though… Gerard had to admit that the songs the band were playing spoke to him on the same level his own songs did, and it _bothered_ him that Frank couldn’t understand that. At home, he’d sampled some of The Used’s songs but he’d never heard any of the ones they were playing tonight and he adored them…

He felt things Frank didn’t when the music was playing. Frank heard the lyrics and took them for what they were—love songs, drunken love songs. But to Gerard they meant more than that. He could relate to the emotions in them and he didn’t understand why Frank didn’t feel the same.

Why wasn’t Frank moved to tears? Why didn’t Frank tremble at the sounds coming from the guitar? 

So it was bittersweet when Frank left the bar because once he was gone Gerard was able to fully lose himself in that sweet, tortured sound. He didn’t know who these singers were, but he wanted to. He didn’t know what caused the pain that inspired those lyrics, but he _understood._ It was what he’d been trying to tell Frank all night long.

This singer—this band—knew what it felt like to have everything taken and to find that one thing to make the pain turn numb… And they knew what it meant to lose that one thing, too. 

Everything Gerard aspired to be in his lyrics appeared in this band’s work… Everything he wanted to say, The Used was saying in different words with different images. 

It was beautiful.

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert had a feeling that someone had to be blind to miss how obsessed that pretty, androgynous creature became from the moment they played their third song. The first two seemed to go right over his pretty little head, but after Bert finished singing _All that I’ve Got,_ that pretty little person couldn’t take his eyes off them. 

Even Jepha noticed it, and he hardly paid attention to audience members who weren’t obviously female once he was in the zone with his guitar. Quinn, however, was the first to comment on it when they took a break for intermission — to get drinks and a quick snack.

“That dude is checking you out, I swear to god—he’s been eye-fucking you all fuckin’ night,” Quinn said, laughing like he’d been told the funniest joke in the world.

“You saw it too?” Jepha asked. “I thought that was a chick.”

“No, it’s a guy—it’s gotta be. I think,” Quinn said, still laughing. 

Bert didn’t say much about it except to agree that he noticed their new fan.

“He’s on tour with us,” Dan said absently. 

“No shit?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah. I was talking with their drummer earlier and I saw him with that other guy — the faux hawk dude.”

“Looks like someone’s gonna have a stalker then,” Quinn said. “What do you think, Bert? He won’t quit staring at you.”

“He likes the music,” Bert said.

“He likes who he’s lookin’ at,” Jepha mumbled.

“So he’s a fanboy,” Bert said, taking a long swig of beer. “I promise you, the next time we see him he’ll be begging for tips about how to get our sound.”

Bert left their area and stood by himself at the back of the little stage, finishing his beer before the intermission was over. He didn’t want to hear any more about the fan, even if he was pretty. Now wasn’t the time for that. _Tour_ wasn’t the time for that. 

Groupies were fine. Groupies came and went, but more specifically, they _went._ There was no leaving Fan Boy behind. Fan Boy was going to be traveling with them and Bert didn’t have time for the kind of stress or anxiety that a fan boy with a _crush_ would bring. So Bert thought it was best to just let sleeping dogs lie. It didn’t matter whether the pretty little creature wanted their sound or Bert’s tongue in his mouth—Bert wasn’t going to give him any special attention. Not a single special word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a much longer--much better--chapter now that I'm back in the groove and my laptop screen no longer has a giant black hole in the middle of it :) Thanks for being so patient with the long wait between chapters one and two!
> 
> Also, on an unrelated side note, I wrote a novel and it is available (for 99c) on Amazon for kindle. It is called "Play Me" and is written under the name Vianne Rouscat. If you're at all interested, feel free to check it out. If not, I'll see you in the next update (which hopefully won't be long)!


	4. Dressed Up Like A Virus (One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the wording is a little bit loaded in the middle of this chapter. I have been working tirelessly on my 30-page Senior Paper so I'm used to informative voice rather than fun, creative writing voice. In other news, this is my last week of classes before I graduate with my first degree from university! Enjoy!

_Chapter 4_

When Bert was finished performing, he was surprised to see Fan Boy paying his tab at the bar as if he was really about to leave. Typically the fans that Bert and the others pegged as obsessive were the first fans in their faces as soon as they stepped off stage. This guy, however, was minding his own business and merely glanced over his shoulder as Bert stepped down to thank a couple of his female friends for coming out to the show. 

To be honest, Bert was impressed. Maybe the guy was just interested in their music, or maybe he was hoping to make a few friends or connections on tour. It wasn’t fair to label him as a wannabe groupie when all he did was stare in shock and awe…

“Guess he’s not as obsessed as you thought,” Bert said, nudging Quinn as the androgynous pretty boy started stumbling through the crowd on his way to the door. He was obviously drunk out of his mind, and he looked as though something had frightened him as he tried so hard to make it to the door. 

“He’s just shy,” Quinn said with good humor. “He’ll come back.”

“No, see, look.” Bert pointed at the door as the Fan Boy finally spilled out onto the street. The door closed behind him and he was gone into the night. “He left.”

“But he’ll be back,” Quinn said, smiling drunkenly even though he’d only had two beers.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Bert asked.

“Fan boys, man. Fan _girls_ can be scary, but it’s the guys you gotta look out for. They’re crazy.”

“Whatever,” Bert said, rolling his eyes and ordering himself a stronger drink. Whether or not the pretty boy in the striped sweater became a nuisance to him, Bert was determined to keep himself out of trouble. He’d had enough drama the last time he went out for tour and he’d be damned if he let it happen again. He’d learned his lesson. He was going to keep to himself, party with his friends, only hook up with the people who weren’t fucking crazy (or on their way there), and be sure to make no more fucking enemies. 

( ) ( ) ( )

“So did you get to talk to the guy or not?” Frank asked when Gerard finally stumbled into the hotel room.

“No,” Gerard whispered. He looked upset and although Frank wanted to stay mad at him for staying so long at the bar, he couldn’t do it. If someone grabbed him or hurt him—or did something to bring up a bad memory—Frank couldn’t risk breaking Gerard’s trust in him. 

“Did something happen?” Frank asked.

“No… I just—I wanted to listen to their music. I… I didn’t want you to think you had to leave…”

“I left because I was _tired,_ Gerard, not because I thought you wanted me to leave you alone with the band,” Frank said. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispered. 

Frank was surprised when Gerard went into the bathroom and started the shower, cleaning off without any prompting. It would be a lie if Frank said it didn’t make him nervous…

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Frank asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

“I smell like beer,” Gerard called over the rush of the shower. “I feel disgusting.”

Frank wanted to ask if he could join in on the shower, but he’d already washed off before Gerard got back and didn’t feel like waiting for his hair to dry again. 

“Are you… Gerard?” Frank pressed.

“Really, I’m okay!” Gerard called. “I’m drunk… Please, I’m just drunk. Leave me alone.”

He sounded like he was crying and Frank sighed heavily. He went back over to the bed and sat down, willing to wait for Gerard to come out before telling him that he wasn’t mad at him. Yes, he’d been annoyed that Gerard refused to leave even though he’d be hearing those same songs over and over for the next few months. However, he didn’t mean to make Gerard feel like he was in trouble for showing some interest in another band and being independent for once. It was rare Gerard stayed out on his own… It was stupid of Frank to leave him alone in a crowded bar in a city he didn’t know. It was surprising Gerard even found his way back to the hotel…

When Gerard came out of the shower, Frank saw that he’d been crying. Even though they were most likely drunk tears, it didn’t mean Gerard deserved an apology any less. Frank had no right to yell at him for not leaving the bar. He was trying to enjoy himself before the tour. He had a right to stay out late if he wanted to, especially if it meant he could make friends with someone other than the members of his own band…

“I didn’t mean to yell at you back at the bar,” Frank said softly. 

“I know,” Gerard said, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes as if it would somehow make them less red. 

“How were the rest of the songs?”

“Fine,” Gerard answered. He still spoke as if he were in trouble and expecting to get yelled at even more. 

“So you didn’t get to talk to them?” Frank asked.

“I didn’t try,” Gerard whispered, drying off his hair and crawling into bed naked. “Why would they want to talk to me? I’m nobody—I’m not…” Gerard sighed heavily and buried his face in the pillow. “I’m nobody important. Who’d want to talk to me?”

“You’re somebody important, Gerard,” Frank whispered.

“To you maybe,” he said, nuzzling the pillow. “Not to anyone else… Not to anyone but my family, maybe.”

“We’re going on _tour,_ ” Frank pressed. “People across the country are going to love you. We’re going to be the band that saves lives, remember?” Frank laid down beside Gerard and started stroking his hair gently. 

“How? I don’t sound even half as good as…that guy.”

“Who? The guy from The Used?”

“Yeah… That guy. He was so cool, Frank. When are we going to be like that?” Gerard spoke with a tone of amazement, as if he really was beginning to see that band as something great. 

“Once we’ve been on tour for a while and have our sound worked out, we’ll be just like them, Gerard. We’ll be great.” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be as cool as him,” Gerard whispered. 

“What is it about him that’s got you all worked up?” Frank asked, making his tone gentle so Gerard wouldn’t feel attacked. Obviously Gerard’s obsession was coming from respect for him as a musician instead of an outright physical attraction—or at least Frank hoped—but Frank didn’t see what set The Used’s band apart from anyone else they’d heard over the years. They weren’t The Misfits or Iron Maiden—they were just a little band from the west that hit it big with the scene.

“He was so cool, Frank,” Gerard whispered. “I want to be like him… I want to be him.”

“Why?” Frank pressed, running his hand down Gerard’s spine.

“His lyrics, Frank… They were so—They were just so _powerful_ to me. I don’t know why. They…”

“They spoke to you,” Frank said, leaning down and kissing Gerard between the shoulder blades. “I can understand that.”

“I feel like he understood me… With those _songs,_ Frank. That sound. I know their band has nothing to do with me, but that music… It _meant_ something. It’s been a long time since I’ve had music touch me that way.”

“It’s what music is supposed to do,” Frank said. “Our music does that to people, too, or else we wouldn’t be here.”

“Our music hurts me,” Gerard whispered. 

“Well, their songs… The Used’s songs probably pick at some of their wounds, too.”

“I know,” Gerard said, sighing and rolling over onto his back. He squinted his eyes against the overhead light and then covered his eyes with his forearm. “He knows how I feel…”

Frank let it drop and started stroking Gerard’s hair, trying to offer him support even if he was nervous about how this budding obsession was going to affect their tour. If Gerard, for some reason, got clingy to that band, he was going to open himself up to a world of ridicule. The Used could mistake him for some kind of a groupie and just humiliate him. Gerard couldn’t handle that… He wasn’t strong enough to handle that sort of harassment.

“I love you, Frank,” Gerard said. His tone was firm as if Frank had, at some point, said he believed otherwise. 

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Frank whispered, kissing Gerard’s cheek and then getting up to turn off the light. When he crawled back into bed, Gerard curled up against his chest and sighed softly. It wasn’t long before Gerard fell asleep.

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert heard a rumor that the Fan Boy was recording in the studio down the hall from The Used’s booth. Apparently, My Chemical Romance was trying to hurriedly record a second album before the tour took off. At the same time, The Used was recording the roughest of demos to work on in their free time during the tour and their time in the studio was mostly spent screwing around with the fancy equipment and figuring out which guitar riffs worked best with their latest, poorly drafted lyrics. 

While Quinn and Jepha were preparing a prank to play on Dan (who was in the bathroom for the third time throwing up from his hangover), Bert snuck down the hall to listen in on My Chemical Romance’s session. 

The sound tech was willing enough to let Bert in, and asked him how his band’s recording was going while the members of MCR crowded around a tall motherfucker with a huge, curly fro. Bert told the tech that they didn’t have much to record yet, and watched the members of MCR get back into place behind their mics and equipment. 

He saw the Fan Boy stand in front of the mic, somehow looking smaller than the tiny, tattooed man to his right—the same one who’d been with him in the bar. He looked fragile behind the microphone. He looked scared. 

“He can’t see us, can he?” Bert asked, even though he knew the glass was a one-way mirror. 

“No. He’s just a nervous guy. He was in here crying yesterday. It took him over an hour to get it together,” the tech muttered. 

“What’s the matter with him?” Bert asked. It wasn’t so much that he was feeling pity for the anxious fan boy. He knew how nervous new artists were. They either got overly excited to be in the studio or they cracked under pressure. The lead singer of MCR looked like the pressure was about to kill him. Mostly, Bert just wondered if the guy was crazy or mentally ill. Pissing off a crazy person was dangerous, and Bert wasn’t low enough to bully or intentionally avoid a person with a known mental disability. 

“I don’t know,” the tech muttered. “He’s got some kind of trauma or something—I don’t think he’ll make it through the tour, honestly. Hang on a sec.” The tech pressed a button and spoke into a microphone placed near his mouth. He told them the other tech had yet to return, but should be back soon. 

As if on cue, the second tech entered the room and dropped down heavily into his seat.

“Ah, shit. He looks like he’s gonna start crying again,” the second tech muttered.

“He’s here guys. Ready when you are,” the first tech said into the mic. The tattooed guitar player gave them a thumbs up after looking at the singer who really did look close to tears. 

“Does he really cry that much?” Bert mumbled to the second tech, wondering if he had any more information. 

“Dude’s got issues,” the tech said indifferently. “Can’t talk to anybody he doesn’t know—can’t look anybody in the eye. I think he’s retarded.”

Bert passed the tech a glare he didn’t see and looked through the glass at the pretty Fan Boy who was still looking so small behind the mic. 

“Okay, we’re ready,” the tattooed man said. 

The techs did their part, flipping switches and pressing buttons, and all of a sudden the pretty little Fan Boy opened his mouth and started to sing. 

Bert’s throat clenched shut when those big, sad eyes suddenly turned intense. They had a fire in them that was like no passion Bert had ever seen before. He sang about death and glared through glass with so much life—hatred and pain in his eyes. 

“What’s his name?” Bert asked.

The tech shook his head angrily, and even Bert knew better than to interrupt the sound techs during an album recording, even if they weren’t on the final mix. 

“Uh—Jared, or something,” the second tech said dismissively. 

“Jared,” Bert repeated, staring through the glass and directly into those big, brutal eyes. 

( ) ( ) ( )

They recorded two songs before Gerard couldn’t take anymore. The songs hurt as if he were coughing up razor blades and all Gerard wanted was to drink himself into a coma. 

“You sang really good today,” Frank said, clapping Gerard on the shoulder as if his pride was really strong enough to break Gerard out of his haze. 

“I want to go to the bar,” Gerard mumbled, knowing it would make Frank angry.

“We’re supposed to go out to dinner with Brian tonight,” Frank said softly. “You can probably get a beer at the restaurant. Can you wait a few hours?”

Gerard just sighed and laid down on the bed of their hotel room. He wanted the tour to start even though he didn’t want to sing. He felt confused and he didn’t know what he wanted anymore… He’d pushed for the band so that he and Frank would be together all the time. He didn’t understand why that wasn’t enough to keep him calm and help him fight the gnawing anxiety.

“You have to find something other than alcohol to calm you down,” Frank said softly. He was trying to be kind and Gerard understood that. He knew Frank was right. The alcohol would destroy him, but it was the only thing that made him feel calm and stifled the nightmares that came with stress and sleeping in strange beds. 

“I don’t want to risk it,” Gerard whispered.

“Risk what?” Frank asked gently, sitting down on the mattress beside him.

“Nightmares,” Gerard said quietly. “When I drink, I don’t dream.”

“You know I’m there for you if you have a nightmare, Gerard.”

“It still hurts to remember,” Gerard mumbled. He knew that Frank understood what the nightmares did to him whether he had someone to comfort him or not. “If I can avoid seeing those things…I will.”

“You can’t rely on alcohol forever, Sweetheart. It’ll kill you,” Frank said softly. 

“Well, when I’m old and ugly and no one wants to touch me the nightmares won’t scare me so bad,” Gerard mumbled. It was the only fantasy he had about escaping his night terrors that didn’t involve suicide. As much as he hated his own image, he knew that his face was pretty and that was all the invite men like his masters and Adam needed. There were so many men going to be on tour with them and Gerard was terrified. Frank couldn’t be with him every second, and even if he was he wasn’t big enough or strong enough to really protect him. 

As cool as Gerard found the lead singer of The Used, it still terrified him when he saw that man creeping around outside of their booth during recording. He wanted to say hi to him, or at least learn his name, but he was afraid of strange men and he didn’t want Frank to get nervous or worse—jealous. Frank was the most important thing in his world. He didn’t want Frank to go away because some punk rock guy showed up and paid attention to him. 

He’d die without Frank. Without Frank to support him, the weight of every decision he’d ever made in his life would crush him. Gerard owed his life to Frank. He owed Frank everything he had, but even that…

Even that wasn’t enough to keep his lips from the bottle for Frank’s sake, and Gerard hated himself for it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Time at the studio waiting to leave for the tour went by faster than Gerard had ever anticipated. He didn’t know if it was because his free time was measured in drinks or if it was because his anxiety made him feel as if he were on a fast track toward Hell. It seemed that as soon as his head hit the pillow at night, the alarm was blaring and he had to get out of bed and start the whole painful turmoil all over again. The showering, the breakfast, the quick sip of beer in between breakfast and rehearsal, the secret kisses between him and Frank when no tech was looking, the lunch, the beers after lunch, the action recording time, the coveted glances toward the awkwardly attractive lead singer of The Used, dinner, and the hard liquor up until bed.

That was how all of Gerard’s days went up until that last day in the studio when the final song was sung, recorded, and mixed. The night that the album was finished, Gerard found himself crying in his hotel bathroom, finishing up a can of extremely cheap beer while Frank and Ray were off exploring the town for some random, unknown, godforsaken reason. 

Frank tried to get Gerard to come with him, but Gerard couldn’t take anymore. He didn’t want to go out and see all the strangers. He wanted to be alone in his hotel room with Frank. He wanted to spend time with Frank—just with Frank—because that was why he wanted the band in the first place. So he and Frank could be together all the time…

But Frank wanted to live. Frank wanted to go places and explore places… He wasn’t afraid of everything the way Gerard was. When he looked out the hotel window at the congested streets of the city, he wanted to hide. The night _scared_ him. The people _scared_ him. Why didn’t Frank understand that anymore?

Did he really believe it when Gerard said that he _wanted_ to be drunk every day?

Gerard waited for hours for Frank to come back. He stared at the clock and drank until the minibar was out of supplies. The numbers turned over and over, making Gerard dizzy even though the time moved so slowly. 

When the clock hit 12:00 am, Gerard couldn’t take anymore. He wiped at the red tear stains on his face and stood up from the floor, tired of being desperate for safety. The world trembled and jolted with each of his steps as he returned to the bathroom. After throwing up for the first time that night, he washed out his mouth and opened the bag of makeup Frank had brought with them from home. He said it was for public appearances—so they could make themselves look edgy and cool for the cameras and the fans. 

Gerard had held out on using it, not wanting the extra attention that the makeup would bring. He didn’t want anyone to see him when he left his hotel room. He wanted to be invisible. Deep down he was terrified that if he so much as lined his eyes that he would get attacked for it—get told he brought it on himself for looking like a fag.

Gerard didn’t want any more pain, but he didn’t want to be alone anymore either. He wanted Frank, but if Frank wasn’t coming home then Gerard was going to go to the bar to look for him… Even if he knew deep down that the last place Frank wanted to see by that point was the inside of another bar.

He told himself that if Frank wasn’t there he’d leave. He’d walk down the street to clear his head and force himself to get over his fear of being alone in the city at night. Part of him knew that being a drunk man outside, alone, in makeup and skinny jeans at night was an invitation to be attacked. The other part didn’t care. Maybe if he was attacked Frank would stay closer…

Gerard was barely able to make it down all the stairs without falling, but once he was on level ground he made sure to walk carefully. If he looked drunk when he entered the bar, he knew he’d be kicked out. It had happened before and he was trying to avoid developing a reputation at the place other than “another one of those wannabe rockstar dudes from the studio across the way.”

Even though his vision became swimmy and there appeared to be a certain level of disconnect between Gerard’s head and the rest of his body, he walked himself across the street and pushed open the door of the bar. 

He was taken slightly aback when the bar was filled wall-to-wall with people. It seemed like everyone who worked in the studio had decided that the night before they left for the tour was the opportune last night to party. 

Gerard knew immediately that he’d never be able to find Frank, even if he was in the crowd, but he felt like people were watching him and even though he didn’t want to force his way into the crowd he was too embarrassed to turn around and leave.

Once the door closed behind him, the heat of the bar began to make him nauseous but he tried to fight the urge to vomit knowing the bathrooms would be in the very worst state of disrepair imaginable. The place already smelled of beer and piss, and the noise of the people talking overpowered the sounds of music coming from the carefully arranged speakers.

Sound techs were drinking alongside members of the bands they worked with, managers were standing along back walls drinking bottles of beer together, sometimes laughing and sometimes clinking the bottles together in cheers. 

It was a celebratory place and Gerard felt like he had no purpose there, but he was afraid that if he tried to leave that everyone would watch him and judge him. So he just made his way to the bar and in his calmest, most no-sir-I’m-definitely-not-drunk voice possible asked for a rum and Coke. 

After getting his drink, barely having enough money left in his wallet to pay for it, Gerard found a quiet little corner against a far wall where he stood and hid behind the rim of his glass. He watched women dance on men, watching guys chug drinks and scream when they were finished… He watched everyone have fun and instead of feeling lonely he felt a strange sense of pride. 

He’d been brave enough to come out without Frank and nothing bad was happening. Even though he wasn’t exactly doing anything in the bar but standing by himself and drinking a drink he really, _really_ shouldn’t have, Gerard was having a good time. From where he stood, he could hear the music the electronic jukebox was playing. It was rock, and it was good. 

Gerard didn’t know how long he stood by the far wall, but at one point when he looked down at his cup it was empty and he had no memory of finishing it off. Suddenly afraid that he’d spilled it without realizing it, Gerard looked down at the floor and swiped at the front of his jeans to feel for dampness. His jeans felt dry despite the clamminess of his hands and there were no puddles of sticky Coke on the floor near his feet. 

“Hey!” 

Gerard jolted when the voice shouted at him from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Being drunk, he could hardly tell up from down, but the loudness and force the voice made him so anxious that it was calling to him. 

He looked quickly up from the floor, embarrassed at the idea he’d been caught wiping at his crotch in the creepy corner of the bar. He could feel his cheeks burn a little darker when he recognized the guy who’d called to him as the lead singer of The Used.

The guy was handsome, but nothing made Gerard more nervous than strange men wearing dark sunglasses indoors. Especially when large amounts of alcohol were involved. 

“Hey, I’ve seen you around before—you’re in that band My Chemical Reaction or whatever, right?”

Gerard stared at him. It was all he could do. Part of it was the shock that a guy was actually talking to him and had approached him first—that was something that _never_ happened, not even when Frank and Gerard had been separated for those two years. Though the attention was a small bit exciting, the fear that he was about to get jumped by the strange man he didn’t know made Gerard freeze on the spot. He didn’t know whether to be polite or try to run for the door. 

“Your band’s on tour with us?” the guy pressed when Gerard didn’t say anything. “I’ve seen you in the studio.”

“Um… Yeah,” Gerard stammered, choking on his words when nothing came to his mind except the instincts which told him to run—to shove the guy down and run.

“What’s your band called again? My Chemical… Chemical…?”

“Romance,” Gerard mumbled, his voice completely lost in the noise of the too hot, too crowded, spinning bar.

“What?”

“Romance,” Gerard said again, only a little bit louder.

“I still can’t—It’s really loud in here. You gotta speak up. I know you can. I’ve heard you in the studio.”

Gerard fought the urge to gag and he didn’t know if it was because he was terrified at the thought of the man listening to him sing—the man he’d practically eye-fucked while listening to him play at the bar before—or if he was really just that drunk. 

“It’s…It’s _Romance._ It’s My Chemical _Romance,_ ” Gerard managed to say. The guy’s face lit up when Gerard finally spoke at an audible volume, what Gerard could see of it anyway around the large, dark sunglasses.

“Cool. I’m Bert—I’m from The Used.” The guy held out his hand for Gerard to shake, and Gerard couldn’t help it when he shrank back against the wall. “You okay, man?” Bert asked, pulling back his hand in order to raise his sunglasses. 

Seeing his eyes made it a little better, but even the confusion and amusement in the stare made Gerard feel timid and small. 

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” Bert said, letting his sunglasses fall back down over his eyes. 

Gerard couldn’t say anything. He just stared and felt his hands start to shake. Just as he was about to drop his glass, Bert grabbed it from him and tossed it up and down in his hand casually. 

“Come on, I’ll make sure you get back to the hotel without passing out in the street and getting ran over.” Bert tried to grab for Gerard’s arm, but Gerard somehow evaded him even though the room was spinning faster around them. “Dude, I’m just trying to help. Stop being so jumpy.” Instead of sounding angry, Bert started to laugh and pushed his sunglasses back up again. “If you get killed tonight it’s going to fuck up the tour. Come on.” Gerard still resisted when Bert reached for him again. “Come on,” Bert coaxed, like a person trying to coax a stray cat closer with food. “I just want to get you across the street okay. I’ll be your crossing guard.”

“Crossing guard?” Gerard repeated, swallowing hard against the pressure building in his throat. 

“Yeah. I’m fuckin’ baked as hell right now, man, but I can get you across the street.”

Bert snagged Gerard’s arm and pulled him away from the wall. Though he wanted to resist, his attempts to break away just made him dizzy and he was terrified that he was going to fall down or pass out in the middle of the bar with all the strange people standing around watching. 

Bert seemed nice enough—he wasn’t making threats and his face was joyful rather than threatening. Gerard walked with him through the crowd of people, but once the cool air outside struck him he fell over onto the sidewalk gagging until the rum and Coke he’d known better than to drink spattered on the pavement. 

“See? Aren’t you glad I got you out here before _that_ ended up on the blonde chick checking you out?” Bert stood over top of Gerard, but his presence was somehow soothing instead of threatening. Maybe it was because he didn’t bother trying to pull Gerard back onto his feet.

Gerard wanted to ask what blonde chick, but he was only capable of gagging until his stomach had emptied itself. When he was able to move again, his limbs were all shaking and only then did Bert offer his hand again. This time, Gerard took it.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Gerard slurred, wanting nothing more than to lie down. 

“Me and my band hit a lot of parties, man. I see this shit every night,” Bert said, laughing. 

“Your band was cool,” Gerard said, staggering across the street. He was no longer able to feel shame or fear when he had to lean on Bert for support. The threat of blacking out was coming on too fast and Gerard was determined to get into his own room before that happened. If Bert tried to take him anywhere else, he’d scream and throw a fit no matter how crazy it made him look. 

“Yeah, you looked like you were into it,” Bert said. “I remember seeing you.”

They still had to shout to one another in order to hear each other’s voices since the loud noise of the bar had taken its toll on their hearing. 

“That’s—I was with _Frank,_ ” Gerard said. 

“He’s your guitar player, right?”

“Yes,” Gerard said, almost starting to cry when he remembered that no one could know about how close he and Frank really were. Gerard wanted to make friends—he wanted to have friends on the tour—but he knew he could never get close to anyone if he had to hide _all_ of the important parts of his life.

“I saw you guys in the studio,” Bert said. He ushered Gerard across the street and before Gerard realized it he was leading Bert upstairs to his hotel room—leaning on him the whole way. 

“What song was I singing?” Gerard asked, swallowing against the urge to vomit which overcame him again. “Did I suck?”

“Nah, you didn’t suck. I don’t know what song—you said something about dying. I remember that ‘cause your face got all—” Bert made some sort of explosion noise and Gerard looked up at him anxiously. He didn’t know what that meant but it sounded threatening.

“I-I live in room four,” Gerard slurred when they reached the fourth floor. 

“Four?” Bert asked, sounding mortified. “Like _four downstairs,_ four?”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “Four like…like forty-eight.”

“Like _first floor?_ ”

“No,” Gerard repeated, moaning this time and stumbling away from Bert in a desperate attempt to reach his room faster. “Like four-forty-eight.”

Gerard finally found his door and collapsed against it. He reached in his pocket for his wallet with the keycard, but his fingers were too slow and all he could do was clutch at the doorknob. 

“Here,” Bert said, laughing and grabbing the wallet out of Gerard’s front pocket for him. Gerard flinched and nearly fell over, but the wall caught him just in time. Bert used the card to unlock the door and propped it with his foot as he pulled Gerard back toward the door by his arm. “In you go,” Bert said jokingly. “And look—your roommate’s already back.”

“Frank?” Gerard said, lifting his head and staring into the room, accidentally locking eyes with his horrified and distressed looking boyfriend. 

“You’re…you’re back,” Frank said, stammering and staring as if Gerard appeared before him like a ghost. 

“He’s shitfaced,” Bert said. “Found him hiding in the corner of the bar.”

“The bar? You already emptied the minibar. Why were you at the bar?”

“I was looking for you,” Gerard cried, immediately bursting into tears. He knew what Frank had thought when he saw him enter with another man. He knew what Frank thought of him… He saw him as nothing more than a cheater. Frank thought Gerard brought Bert back to cheat when he was really too drunk to walk or even stand. “I just wanted to find you!”

Bert started laughing and said something dismissive before backing out of the doorway and closing the door behind him. 

As soon as he was gone, Gerard fell forward onto Frank and held him close. He couldn’t even explain himself, and no matter how many times Frank said it was okay, Gerard couldn’t feel consoled. Even when Frank cradled him and shushed him, Gerard couldn’t be calm. 

He didn’t feel peace until he blacked out on the floor with his head on Frank’s lap.


	5. Make Room!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever! Whenever my schedule changes, I have a lot of trouble getting in the groove of writing again. Now I'm back and I should be updating with a little more regularity. I hope you're all still reading!!!

_Chapter 5_

Frank hadn’t known what to think when Gerard had stumbled into their hotel room with Bert’s hands on him. At first he’d been hurt—terrified and angry all in the same second—and then Gerard ran to him crying and he realized he had nothing to worry about. Gerard was drunk and Bert was apparently his guide back to the hotel. There wasn’t even a gleam in the other singer’s eyes that implied he’d expected to take Gerard home to get lucky. 

He realized, too, that Gerard knew what it had looked like when he came back to the hotel with Bert. It was oddly heartwarming to have Gerard cry so hard because he genuinely wanted Frank to know that he only loved _him,_ that he wanted no one but _him,_ and that he didn’t want Frank to be jealous. He didn’t want Frank thinking that he was unfaithful.

Frank tried to get Gerard to calm down, but it was useless when he was both upset and drunk. There was no excuse for Gerard to have gone to the bar that night, even if insisted that he’d gone there looking for Frank. The last place Frank wanted to be was inside of a bar. Gerard knew that…

But it was useless to fight Gerard’s logic. Maybe he’d gone out to make friends when his inhibitions were lowered and his fears were muted by the alcohol. Maybe he’d just wanted another drink after the minibar ran dry…

“Gerard, you need to go to bed,” Frank said after about thirty minutes of Gerard lying silently with his head in his lap on the floor. Gerard didn’t move or make any sounds. After a few gentle nudges, Frank realized Gerard had blacked out.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank hadn’t known what to expect after their first live show of the tour. Gerard had played live before, but never in front of an audience like this… He was completely drunk, Mikey was really drunk, and Frank felt like he was the only member of the band who was at least somewhat sober when the show ended. 

In the minutes leading up to the show’s beginning, Gerard had repeatedly thrown up in the venue bathroom and then in the trashcans backstage, either from the booze or the nerves or both. He performed alright—far from his best, but not the worst. The crowd was forgiving and seemed to really like their performance. When the audience kept cheering between songs, Gerard’s confidence could be seen growing. 

That didn’t stop him from turning into a nervous wreck once the stage lights faded out and they were backstage again. 

Frank tried to offer Gerard comfort, but it was hard to do the things he knew would work when they had to keep their relationship out of the public eye. He couldn’t kiss Gerard, couldn’t hug him for too long or cuddle him—all he could do was give him a brief hug and pat him on the back. 

And that was useless compared to the support _Bert_ came to offer. 

“Hey, you guys did great!” Bert yelled, slapping Gerard on the back without realizing it would cause Gerard to jolt and fall down. “Whoa, hey—Gotta stop drinkin’ so much, man. You’re gonna end up fallin’ off stage one of these nights.” Bert helped Gerard to his feet before Frank could even offer his hand and Gerard leaned against him… Leaned against Bert.

“Did we really do good?” Gerard asked, his voice a slur. 

“Yeah! Didn’t you hear them cheering? They’re cheering for you. If you sucked they’d start booing. Especially if they’re drunk—drunks don’t lie, man.”

“Drunks lie all the time,” Frank said firmly, moving Gerard from Bert’s shoulder onto his own. 

“Not about entertainment. What’s your problem?” Bert asked, his good humor immediately leaving when he felt that Frank was challenging him.

“Gerard needs to lie down,” Frank said, resisting the urge to stroke Gerard’s hair as his secret boyfriend buried his face in his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard was whispering, inaudible to Bert but loud when it was spoken directly into Frank’s ear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“What are you, his babysitter? The night’s still young! You gotta stay for the rest of the show. My band’s gonna play soon.”

“He’s about to black out. It’s not like it’s our only chance to hear you.” Frank wished he could keep the irritation out of his tone, but something about Bert just rubbed him the wrong way. He was obviously as bad about drinking as Gerard was, and he smelled like marijuana—something Gerard did _not_ need to get caught up in. It also didn’t help that Gerard was obviously interested in Bert—not necessarily romantically, but still Bert appeared as competition. Frank didn’t like competition. It never ended well for him since Gerard was such a physical person when he wasn’t busy being traumatized. If he was drunk, what was to stop him from letting Bert take him to bed?

“He doesn’t look that bad,” Bert said, shrugging. “But hey, who am I to judge, right? Good show. You did good.” Bert gave Gerard one last clap on the back before walking away to join his band, prepping for their turn to perform. 

When he was gone, Frank realized that Gerard’s whispered apologies had turned to something else as Frank tried to make him walk. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he was saying. “I’m not going to leave you. Believe me—please believe me. I won’t leave you.”

“I know,” Frank whispered, giving Gerard a quick kiss on the cheek when he was almost sure no one was looking. “I’m not going anywhere either. It’s okay.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Gerard moaned. “It’s too hot—It’s just way too hot, Frank.”

Frank shushed him and led him out of the venue toward the parking lot where he could get cool air and relax. Once he was near the van, Gerard sank to his knees on the ground and then slumped over, partially unconscious but still awake enough to moan.

“I want to go get you some more water,” Frank said, trying to decide whether or not it was safe to leave him alone. It would only be for a minute…but a minute was all it took for someone to grab Gerard and drag him off.

“I’m tired,” Gerard cried. “I don’t feel good—Frank, I’m drunk. I’m so drunk, and I love you. Why can’t you just tell them I love you?”

“Because we could get cut from the tour,” Frank mumbled. “I’m going to get you some water. Can you promise to stay here?”

“I’ll stay,” Gerard whimpered. “Don’t go—I’ll stay here. I’m thirsty—Frank…”

“I’ll be right back,” Frank said, kissing Gerard’s forehead quickly and getting up from the ground. He hurried back into the venue, repeatedly looking back at Gerard to make sure he was alright. When he got inside, he ran toward the green rooms where cases of bottle water sat. They were all room temperature, but they were water. Empty bottles were scattered everywhere and Frank had to avoid tripping on them as he hurried to grab an armful of bottles. Once he had them, he rushed back to the parking lot where Gerard still lay, still moaning. “Here, Sweetheart,” Frank said, knowing they were alone. He opened a bottle and held it to Gerard’s lips. 

Gerard drank the entire bottle in several long swallows and then collapsed back down onto the ground panting from lack of air.

“I want you,” Gerard moaned. “When will get a hotel? I wanna be with you—Frank, I’m sick. I feel sick!”

Frank sighed and cared for his boyfriend in the parking lot, holding his hair when he threw up and helping him move to a new spot each time he was sick near where he was lying. Once Gerard had finished the fifth and final bottle of water, he had sobered up enough to walk and made it to the venue’s bathroom before pissing on himself. Mikey, Ray, and Bob were off somewhere, probably mixed in with the crowd watching the show or finding more booze to drink. 

After a couple of hours, Frank managed to get Gerard to lie down in the backseat of the van and sleep. Frank wanted to lie with him, but Gerard was soaked in sweat and kept pushing Frank away when he got near, claiming he knew he smelled bad and didn’t want anyone to touch him. Apparently he didn’t realize that Frank was just as sweat-logged and foul-smelling. Or maybe he did and just didn’t want to let Frank know that he was the problem. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Many shows passed like that until it all blurred together. Some nights Gerard would just pass out, some nights he’d pick fights, and some nights he’d just cry and cry and cry until everyone around got sick of hearing him. No one understood why he was crying and no one could be told. Frank couldn’t tell them that the sight of men in dark sunglasses brought back bad memories. Painful memories.

People would stare at them when Gerard would cry into Frank’s chest backstage at shows. Rumors already started spreading that they were dating and Frank did his best to shrug them off without giving a committal answer. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t dating Gerard—he would never tell someone he was single when he wasn’t. He’d never hurt Gerard like that.

Gerard was so drunk most of them time what when people asked him what was going on between him and Frank all he could say was “Frank gets me water—I like him” or something similar about how Frank cleans him up when he’s drunk.

Needless to say, becoming a complete crybaby when he was drunk didn’t make Gerard very popular with the seasoned veterans of the tour. Almost everyone was deterred by him once he was intoxicated (although almost everyone wanted to drink with him at the start). _Almost_ everyone.

Bert always came around when Gerard was about to blackout. Frank wished he’d just go away. He wished he could _tell_ Bert to go away. He didn’t like having some other guy getting so close to his man…even if that guy was just offering friendship. 

Bert was always drunk and smelled of drugs. He was exactly the opposite of what Gerard needed in his life. Being on _tour_ was the opposite of what Gerard needed in his life, but he glowed when he was onstage. Out there, he was happy and confident and powerful. He had an ego when he was onstage. Frank had never been more attracted to him than he was when he was onstage.

So on the night when they finally, finally, _finally_ got a hotel, Frank was more than ready to take advantage of it. Gerard was at least somewhat sober when they came into the hotel room. He was able to walk and form coherent sentences—most of them about how bad everything smelled and how glad he was that their manager was taking their clothes to the Laundromat for them. 

Frank closed and locked the door behind them and then immediately wrapped his arms around Gerard’s hips. He pressed close against Gerard’s back and placed his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Frank said, a seductive purr in his voice. “You wanna get a shower with me?”

“Okay,” Gerard said, his tone the same as Frank’s. “Wash my hair for me?”

“Sure, but only if you wash my back.” 

Gerard turned around in Frank’s grasp and kissed him gently on the lips, smirking before making the kiss go a little deeper and then deeper yet. Frank moaned and grabbed onto Gerard’s hips. He slid his hands forward and started undoing Gerard’s belt. His boyfriend let out a quiet little whimper and pressed closer to him, rubbing himself against Frank’s thigh. 

“Shower first,” Frank breathed after breaking the kiss. “Shower first, Baby—then I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Really?” Gerard panted, pressing against Frank’s thigh a little harder. He probably wouldn’t make it through the whole shower without trying to get Frank to pay him that special, extra attention.

“Yeah, Baby,” Frank said, undoing Gerard’s jeans and starting to undress him. Gerard took off his own shirt and then started working at Frank’s, unable to stay focused and kissing Frank instead. 

“Will you suck me?” Gerard breathed, nuzzling Frank’s neck before nipping the skin.

“Yeah,” Frank panted. “Anything you want—anything you want.”

They made it into the shower alright, but spent more time kissing under the stream of water than they did actually bathing. It had been so long since they were really able to touch each other—hold each other—and Gerard was sober enough to know what was happening, not weeping or blacking out. 

Frank missed this—he envied himself in earlier years when he’d had Gerard like this all the time, could’ve had him like this every night if he wanted. Oh how he’d taken those days for granted—even those days after he had Gerard back after the memory lapse, he’d taken those nights for granted. He didn’t realize how horrible it would be to have his lover so close and not be allowed to touch him or kiss him. 

It had been so long since he’d really touched and felt Gerard—now he realized how much weight Gerard had lost on the tour. All he did was drink and throw up. It made sense he’d lose weight, but it was shocking to Frank. He could feel Gerard’s ribs and he hadn’t been that thin since… Well, since the day Frank first took him home.

That needed to change—but for now, Frank could only take care of one of Gerard’s needs.

Their shower was rushed but still thorough. Even Gerard, who hated bathing after years of being made to wash in water that was either scalding hot or freezing cold, made a point to cover every part of his body in one type of suds or another. The grease that had completely slicked back his hair was rinsed away, off his shoulders, across his back, down his thighs—gone. 

Finally clean, finally able to hold each other close without cringing from the smell, Frank turned off the shower and he and Gerard hurried back into the bed area of the hotel room. Gerard had his hands on Frank’s hips, holding him close while kissing him deeply. Frank raked his fingers through Gerard’s soaking wet hair. They didn’t bother with towels—it’d been too long since they’d been alone together. 

Frank appreciated it even more since not only were they alone, but his lover was also sober for once. He was actually in the moment instead of going through the motions while his mind was gone, off in some hazy place. 

“I love you,” Gerard moaned, wrapping his arms around Frank’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder. “Do you want me?”

“You know I do,” Frank said, backing them toward the bed and making Gerard sit down on it. As soon as his body hit the bed, Gerard crawled backwards so he could lie his head against the pillows. 

“I’m sorry he keeps talking to me,” Gerard whispered, closing his eyes when Frank started crawling toward him. “I don’t try to get his attention.”

“It’s okay,” Frank said. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Frank made his way up the bed until he’d crawled over Gerard’s legs to his hips. Gerard was only half hard—his mind caught between their rare opportunity and his guilt for capturing Bert’s eye—but with a few encouraging strokes, Frank had Gerard moaning. As soon as Gerard was fully erect, Frank sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue. 

Gerard cried out, holding back a little at first but giving in when Frank slowly worked his lips down to the base. He set up a pace, not holding back, and deep throated Gerard each time he went back down. Soon, Gerard was panting and his legs were shaking against the mattress as he mewled out tiny, desperate sounds.

“Fr-Frank, I—Oh God. D-Don’t make me cum. W-We have to—Hn…” 

Frank pushed Gerard as close to the edge as he could get him before pulling off and smiling.

“I thought you wanted me to suck you,” Frank said, crawling up Gerard’s body in order to kiss him on the throat and then the chin. 

“Yeah, but…you can do that anywhere,” Gerard said, before pressing his lips against Frank’s firmly. “I want you. Just you.” Gerard nuzzled Frank’s shoulder, holding him close. 

“Okay, Baby,” Frank said, pulling back so he could get the condoms and lubricant from his suitcase. Once he had them in his hands he got back into the bed and kissed Gerard on the cheek.

“I don’t want that,” Gerard said, immediately taking the condom from Frank’s hand and throwing it across the room. “Just want you,” he added, pulling Frank down by the back of his head and kissing him hard on the open mouth. Frank moaned and then forced himself to pull back.

“You’re so hot,” Frank said, laughing a little as he opened the bottle of lubricant and poured some out on his fingers. Gerard moaned and spread his legs in anticipation. His hands kept twitching against the mattress as if resisting the urge to stroke himself, knowing he was still on the edge.

Frank didn’t waste time on teasing. He’d missed Gerard too much and for too long to hold back. He slid one finger in and then quickly added a second and third—encouraged to take things faster when Gerard moaned deeply each time Frank would slip the fingers in and out. He avoided striking Gerard’s prostate, knowing how dangerously close to the edge he already was.

As soon as he was sure Gerard was prepped enough, Frank lined himself up and pressed inside. Gerard hissed in pain at first, but his discomfort quickly turned to a screech of pleasure as Frank set up his pace—pressing against Gerard’s prostate with every other thrust.

“Don’t stop,” Gerard started moaning. It was the first time he’d ever showed so much desperation when they were together. He had his arms wrapped around Frank’ shoulders, his nails digging into Frank’s back like always, but this time he just kept begging Frank to keep moving, not to stop. “Please, please,” Gerard cried, only silenced when Frank kissed him. 

It didn’t take long for Gerard to reach climax, and as soon as he did he started crying. It wasn’t like when he’d cry before—when he would look conflicted and hurt, haunted by bad memories until he broke. No, this time he looked like he was crying from joy. He kept kissing Frank’s neck, still holding onto him and moaning as Frank continued to thrust in and out of him. 

When Frank was finished, Gerard was still holding onto him and weeping. His sobs were only slightly interrupted when he felt himself being filled, but as soon as Frank pulled out, Gerard curled against him. 

“I don’t want to go anymore,” Gerard said. His crying had turned to shivering and Frank was made to pull the bed sheets over their bodies to help keep Gerard warm. “I want to go home… I want to just be with you. I don’t like doing this.”

“This is what you wanted,” Frank said softly. “So we could be together all the time.”

“But we’re not together… I can’t tell anyone we’re together and I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” Frank said softly, stroking Gerard’s hair. “Sometimes I want to just…kiss you on stage so everyone sees it. So we don’t have to hide anymore. I know it hurts you.”

“It feels lonely,” Gerard whispered, cuddling closer to Frank and sighing. “I’m happy to have this though,” he added. “I like that we don’t have this as much because I appreciate it more, but I miss you. I want to act like a couple.”

“I’ll kiss you on stage if you want,” Frank said, smiling and holding Gerard tight. He didn’t want to let Gerard get sad. He wanted him to enjoy their night together, not let himself fall apart. “I’ll go, like, full on _tongue,_ right there.”

Gerard laughed a little and rested against Frank’s chest.

“I wish,” he said. “Brian would kill us.”

“I know,” Frank said, kissing Gerard on the temple and closing his eyes. He fought to stay awake—he’d left the light on in hopes it would help him—but the tour had drained his energy. Within minutes, he was asleep and Gerard followed soon after.


	6. Kiss All the Boys

_Chapter 6_

After a few months on tour, Gerard felt he’d finally adjusted. He still drank a lot, but he’d managed to get himself to stop crying all the time. This was the lifestyle he’d chosen, that he’d pushed for, and he was going to take responsibility for it. He loved Frank, and he could see how much pain it caused his lover when he’d lose himself to the booze and come back to the van a sweaty, weepy mess.

As it was, Frank and the other members of the band had gone off…somewhere. Gerard didn’t really know where they went. Frank had tried to get him to go, but Gerard refused. And when Frank tried to stay behind with him, Gerard snuck a kiss and asked Frank to leave in the nicest way possible. Gerard needed his space sometimes too. Having people constantly around him, being made to stand in crowds and then getting stuffed back into the van, it just made him so claustrophobic. 

It was nice to just stand outside the venue amongst all the vans and busses, smoking a cigarette and breathing in the fresh, nighttime air in between puffs of smoke. He could hear the sound of one of the other bands playing, could hear the audience roar. 

Gerard smiled as his eyes slipped closed and his listened. He was a little buzzed, but not fully drunk. It took a little bit of booze to get him on stage—and a little more to keep him on stage—but once he was backstage, Gerard turned to water instead. It was better that way. It took the look of fear and worry off Frank’s face at least.

“Hey!”

When the voice called out, Gerard flinched and dropped his cigarette. He immediately checked his surroundings—nothing around for acres except busses, vans, and trucks. Everyone else was inside drinking or hanging around the back doors smoking cigarettes and weed… The only people out here prowling were Gerard and the occasional security guard. 

Gerard’s first instinct was to duck into another row of busses, hoping to get away from whoever had called out whether that person was calling to him or not. 

“No, no, no! Hey! Jerry!” The man following Gerard started laughing, sounding more and more boisterous the more he talked. “It’s just me. Where are you goin’?”

Gerard didn’t recognize the voice and tried to work his way back to the venue building, not wanting to be caught anywhere alone with anyone who wasn’t a member of his band. It wasn’t safe. All it took was one cruel, crazy person and Gerard would be back where he came from… Beaten again. Broken again…

“Hey! It’s me—Bert!” 

Gerard’s body froze involuntarily and he turned around to look over his shoulder. The shadowy figure approaching him did kind of look like Bert… 

“Where you goin’?” Bert asked, coming to rest about four paces away from Gerard who stared at him. 

“I… I was just…”

“You need a smoke?” Bert asked, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offering one to Gerard. With a careful hand, Gerard took the cigarette from him, saying it was to replace the one Bert had made him drop when he’d been started. He took it, but he didn’t light it. “I saw you sing tonight. You killed it, man. You guys were _awesome._ ”

“Y-yeah?” Gerard said, always so flattered whenever anyone complimented him. In his mind, everyone on the tour was better than him. Especially Bert… The first time Gerard had heard Bert sing in that bar, he’d felt like the other man understood him. He knew Bert’s lyrics, at least the ones on the album he was currently selling, were about a nasty break up. But at the same time, songs about break ups were about mourning a loss—any loss. Gerard has losses to mourn too. 

“Yeah,” Bert said, laughing and putting his cigarettes away. He pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette out of his other pocket—it was weed and Gerard knew it—and lit it. “You want…?”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head and backing a step away. It wasn’t that he hated other people doing drugs, he just remembered where the drugs had left him. 

“You sure? It’s good—it’s all natural.” Bert laughed and kept trying to hand it off to Gerard, but gave up and shrugged when Gerard just kept pulling away. “How you holdin’ up?”

“What?” Gerard asked, taken aback that someone from a band as big as The Used would give a damn about how the front man of a wannabe band like MCR was doing.

“You haven’t been drinkin’ as much lately. It’s good to see you not covered in puke and snot for once.” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it still hurt. Gerard knew how pathetic he’d been. He was just hoping everyone would forget and move on… “Where’s the rest of your band.”

“I don’t know,” Gerard said with some trepidation. He didn’t want to admit that he was out here alone with no one looking for him or expecting him back anytime soon. He started looking around for the quickest route of escape, and Bert noticed it.

“Hey, I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Calm down—it’s okay, man,” Bert said, flashing a scruffy smile and tilting his head. “Why are you so jumpy anyway? Did you get mugged before or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. He guessed it was sort of true. He’d been robbed once—robbed of his whole fucking life and every dream he’d ever had.

“What am I sayin’?” Bert asked, laughing loudly and causing Gerard to flinch. “You’re from Jersey, right? You probably get mugged every day.”

“It’s… My neighborhood isn’t bad,” Gerard said, thinking of his little house with Frank and their dogs. He missed his home. He wanted to go home so badly… “Where are you from?” Gerard asked, swallowing hard. Of all the people he’d met on the tour—all the singers, all the musicians, all of the techs and awesome fans—Bert was the closest thing he had to a friend. Sure, Bert always seemed to show up when Gerard was shit-faced and lost, but he didn’t seem to have cruel intentions. 

“Utah,” Bert said, laughing like he’d said a joke as he took a drag from his joint. “Bet you don’t think of Utah when you hear our sound, right? Quinn already had some stuff made up and asked me if I wanted to join ‘cause they needed a singer. It’s been great.”

“He seems…nice,” Gerard said. He knew the members of Bert’s band by sight, but had hardly said more than two words to any of them. (If he had said more, it had been when he was drunk and he had no recollection of the conversation at all.)

“So where’d your band come from?” Bert asked. Gerard understood that he didn’t mean location, he meant what fuelled it into creation.

“I always wrote a lot of songs and…I met Frank and…” Gerard didn’t know how to tell the story without telling the truth. “Well, Mikey loved guitar and Frank played guitar—and Frank knew Ray and…met Bob…”

Bert started laughing and shook his head.

“You’re so nervous—why are you so fuckin’ nervous? Is it my hair? Does my hair scare you?”

“What?” Gerard backed off a step when Bert’s laughter became hysterical and he started messing with his stringy, black locks. 

“You—you’re freakin’ out. You always freak out when you’re sober. What’s the matter with you, man?”

“Nothing,” Gerard said, hunching in on himself and looking around again for the best route of escape.

“Sorry. I’m baked right now—ignore me, man,” Bert said, his laughter turning into a giggle that made Gerard’s stomach flutter. Bert was so talented, so gifted. Why did he make the effort to talk to Gerard who couldn’t even talk to him without getting tongue-tied? “You wanna…come up on our bus?”

“Your bus?” Gerard asked, swallowing hard. He felt he shouldn’t go with Bert alone. No one would know where he was or where to find him… But Bert was an amazing musician. His band was everything Gerard hoped MCR could be. He admired Bert and it would be crazy to refused to an opportunity to sit with him and learn more about the industry they were involved in. Sure, Bert was high and drunk, but he was still incredible. He was still better than Gerard…

“Yeah. Come on. It’s quiet there. I got a headache.” Bert winked and made a hand gesture for Gerard to follow him. Of course, Gerard did. He’d been taken onto busses before to drink with other bands, but never Bert’s bus. 

When they arrived, Gerard hesitated before following Bert up the steps into the vehicle. He froze when he saw Quinn and Jephaa sitting on a long couch along one of the side walls and would’ve backed his way back into the parking lot had Bert not grabbed him. It took everything in Gerard’s power not to scream.

“What’s the matter?” Bert asked. “We don’t bite. _You’re_ the vampire, remember?”

Gerard wasn’t humored. He just stared at Jepha and Quinn who were drinking together with disgruntled looks on their faces. 

“Guys, you remember my buddy,” Bert said, waving at his bandmates who looked less than interested.

“Good show tonight,” Jepha said, no enthusiasm at all.

“Don’t mind them,” Bert said. “They’re burnt out. One of the techs broke Jepha’s guitar.”

“Again,” Jepha snapped. Gerard flinched and turned to look at the door of the bus again.

“Relax,” Bert said, slapping Gerard on the shoulder. “You’re so jumpy. Come here.” Bert moved to the back of the bus and Gerard followed nervously, giving a wide berth to Jepha and Quinn in fear that one of them might lash out at him or attack. 

“Where are we going?” Gerard asked, slowing as they neared the back of the bus, the bunk area.

“Where it’s quiet,” Bert said. “You don’t wanna sit around Jepha when he’s mad.”

“I… I don’t—”

“Hey—don’t freak out. Why are you so jumpy all the time?” Bert laughed and pushed aside the curtain of the bunk area. He sat down in a mixed pile of clothes on the floor and patted the ground in front of him. “Sit down. You’ve been standing all night.”

Gerard sat down slowly, looking around the messy bunk area and trying to avoid Bert’s gaze. He didn’t like the way Bert made him feel. Just sitting close to him made Gerard’s stomach flutter and tighten… He knew what those feelings were, and they weren’t good to have when he had Frank to take care of. 

“So… Who hurt you?” Bert asked, taking a long drag from his joint and holding it.

“What?” Gerard asked, taken aback.

“Your lyrics. They’re all…you know,” Bert started giggling and shook his head, making more strands fall into his eyes. “They’re all deep and… _morose._ What happened? Who hurt you?”

“Lots of things happened,” Gerard said, looking away again. 

“Who broke your heart?” Bert asked, his tone less accommodating, like he knew if he kept asking Gerard would eventually tell him.

“It’s not easy to talk about,” Gerard admitted.

“Duh,” Bert said, laughing boisterously and slapping Gerard on the arm in a playful gesture. “That’s what the metaphors are for.” Bert started giggling and repeating “phors are for” over and over to himself, humored by the unintentional rhyme. “Come on—You tell me, I’ll tell you.”

“Bad break up,” Gerard lied. It was the closest thing he could say about the lyrics he’d written when he’d been recovering from the abuse of his Master and Trainer…and when he’d been recovering from his horrible, unwanted split from Frank. 

“Yeah, me too,” Bert said. “Except… You know, she died.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said quickly. “That… That explains the songs. When I heard you sing the first time I really… I knew you knew what it felt like.” He couldn’t hide from Bert. He didn’t want to. It was his first chance to make a friend on his own, and Bert had been nothing but kind and open to him. 

“What _what_ felt like?” Bert asked, almost looking angry.

“What it feels like to lose everything you love,” Gerard said. “What it’s like to have nothing. That’s what I heard in the bar the first time I heard you guys play. All of it, from how you sang to the way the guitars sounded. I _felt_ it.”

“I remember you at the bar,” Bert said. “You were so into us. Quinn called you a fan boy.”

Gerard felt his cheeks burn and his passionate feelings faded away rapidly. It felt like he was being made fun of and it shut him down immediately. Why had he thought his feelings of understanding would be appreciated by someone as talented as Bert? He really was just a fanboy… 

“I was drunk,” Gerard whispered, looking down at his hands. “Crowds… I don’t like crowds.”

“You don’t like crowds and you sing in front of a big audience every night? Damn. No wonder you’re shitfaced every night on stage.”

“Frank tells me I need to stop drinking so much, but… I can’t go out there sober. I can’t look at all those people without losing my fuckin’ mind, you know?” Gerard said.

“Who is he, your mother?” Bert snapped. “I noticed he’s always tellin’ you what to do.”

Gerard stiffened and swallowed hard. He hadn’t meant to put Frank under fire. He just wasn’t used to talking about his life without Frank in it. To be honest, Frank was on Gerard’s mind almost every spare second. He loved Frank. He admired Bert, but he loved Frank more than anything. More than Mikey, even. 

“He looks out for me,” Gerard said.

“He gets in my face for talking to you. You know what I think,” Bert said, giggling and scooting closer to Gerard on the pile of clothes on the floor. “I think he’s got a boner for you.”

Gerard began blushing again and looked away.

“Why…why would you say that?” He asked.

“Duh. He throws a fit whenever I’m around you. He’s jealous of me and he isn’t even dating you. I mean—he’s not, is he?”

“Frank?”

“Yeah, Frank,” Bert said.

Gerard tried to think of a way to avoid answering. He was told to lie about their relationship, to hide it, but he didn’t want to do that to Frank.

“I mean, the band is like a relationship,” Gerard said.

“That’s like a press release!” Bert said, throwing a used t-shirt at Gerard’s head. “Are you dating him? For real?”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head slowly. He didn’t want to lie, but he had to. It was the only way to keep the band safe. Besides…Bert might quit talking to him if he knew the truth. 

“I’m not judging, man,” Bert said. “You don’t have to get all bent out of shape about it.”

“We… We live together—we have a house. Me and Frank. They said it’d be bad for the band if people thought we were _together,_ together.”

“That’s cool you get to live with your bandmate,” Bert said. “But after touring, I guarantee you, you’re gonna get sick of his face. Especially since he’s always tryin’ to tell you what to do.”

Gerard shrugged and looked down at the floor. Was that true? Would he really get tired of seeing Frank when all he’d wanted before was to be with Frank every spare minute? Circumstances were different for him than they were for Bert, Gerard understood. Frank was more than a bandmate. Frank was his lover, his best friend, his _savior._ Everything Gerard had he owed to Frank. 

“Come here—I wanna show you some stuff I’ve been working on,” Bert said, digging through the clothes and pulling out a notebook.

“Really?” Gerard said, his eyes going wide with shock. Bert wanted to show _him_ his new works? 

“Yeah. But if you steal ‘em, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Gerard said, scooting closer to get a better look at the notebook. When he reached Bert’s side, Gerard froze when the other man threw an arm around him. 

When he didn’t push or nudge the arm away, Gerard realized he was in trouble…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank lowered his cell phone and let out a heavy sigh when he finally spotted Gerard.

“Guys, I found him!” Frank called. They had been searching the parking lot and venue for Gerard for over an hour. He wouldn’t answer his cell and Frank had really begun to think something horrible had happened to him. “Where were you? I was worried.” Frank gave Gerard a quick hug, but Gerard held him tighter and pressed a gentle kiss onto the side of Frank’s neck. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, pulling back. He didn’t look Frank in the eye, but that wasn’t unusual. Whenever Gerard got upset, he seldom looked at anyone. Especially not if he was afraid or anxious. 

“Where did you go? I looked everywhere.” Frank rubbed Gerard’s forearm and squeezed his hand. 

“I… I was with Bert,” Gerard said quietly. 

“What were you doing with him?” Mikey asked. “You smell like weed.”

“Bert was smoking,” Gerard whispered, holding Frank’s hand and smiling a little. “I didn’t… I just…”

“Well, we need to head out soon. Do you wanna use the bathroom before we go?”

“I’m fine,” Gerard said, leaning down and kissing Frank softly on the lips. Mikey nudged him immediately and gestured subtly to a group of people off in the distance. 

Frank let Gerard hold his hand as they walked back to the van. He didn’t really care if there was an audience or not. For over an hour, his boyfriend had been missing and each minute that passed was another minute that Frank feared someone had stolen him—taken him or hurt him. 

When they got in the van, Gerard laid his head down in Frank’s lap and closed his eyes. Frank smiled at him and smoothed his hair, wishing they had just a few minutes alone together. 

“What did you and Bert talk about?” Frank asked. Gerard opened his eyes but didn’t answer. “Hm?” Frank pressed.

“He said he liked our sound.”

“He says that every time he sees you,” Frank said.

“I know,” Gerard said. “It just means a lot when he says it. The Used is so great…”

“They’re not _that_ good,” Mikey said from the back seat of the van. “You admire them too much. It’s weird.”

“It’s his lyrics,” Gerard said, sitting up so he could look at Mikey instead of Frank. “When I hear him sing… When Bert sings, it’s like he knows _pain._ ”

“Everybody knows pain, Gerard. I don’t like you hanging out with him. I’ve heard stories. He’s going to get you into trouble.”

“You don’t understand, Mikey. Bert’s songs are like _mine._ I can tell that he’s been hurt—”

“Everyone’s been hurt,” Mikey said firmly. “He’s not like you.”

“Mikey—”

“Stay away from him, Gerard. He’s into hardcore shit. Do you wanna get into that shit again?”

“Mikey,” Frank said in a warning tone, rubbing Gerard’s shoulder when he saw—even in the darkness—how hurt Gerard looked.

“I know his type,” Mikey said. “He’ll be nice to you, he’ll give you his drugs, he’ll burn you out, and he’ll move on to someone else. And he’s not that nice. Quit being so gullible.”

“What do you mean?” Gerard asked. “He’s the only person on this tour other than you guys whose actually _been_ nice.”

“Look, all he wants is to sing and party. If you get mixed up with him, you’re just going to be part of the entertainment to him.”

“He’s not like that,” Gerard said, laying back down against Frank. 

“Why are you sticking up for him?”

“Because you don’t know him!” Gerard yelled. “He showed me some of the lyrics he’s been working on and they’re really great. Someone who just wants to party and get high can’t write lyrics like that.”

“They can if they’re fake.”

“He’s not fake!”

“Don’t start bitching,” Bob said, his tone proving that he was a force to be reckoned with. “I have a headache and you’re acting like kids.”

Frank sighed and petted Gerard’s hair. He didn’t particularly want Gerard around Bert either, but he wasn’t about to tell Gerard who he could and couldn’t talk to. Bert had yet to cause Gerard any harm, and it didn’t hurt to have someone else looking out for Gerard when he was drunk and upset. 

Frank looked down at Gerard’s face, wiping his bangs aside to reveal more and more of his love’s pale skin. 

That was when he noticed it. A faint, dark mark on the side of Gerard’s neck.

When he saw it, Frank’s heart sank and he felt a sharp pain travel through his body from head to toe. It was a hickey. A small one, but still unmistakable. Frank immediately turned away to look out the window, fighting tears which hit him all at once. It hurt even more because Gerard wasn’t even drunk. 

Suddenly, Gerard’s hand appeared on Frank’s wrist. Frank pulled away only to have Gerard grasp it again.

“Stop,” Frank said, choking on the tears but able to hold them back. Barely.

“Frank,” Gerard said softly, pawing at Frank’s arms until Frank finally looked at him. “I told him to stop,” he whispered.

“We need a minute,” Frank said, immediately shifting in his seat to open the door of the van.

“We need to leave or we’re going to get behind,” Ray said.

“A minute won’t hurt!” Frank yelled, sliding out of the van and pulling Gerard with him. He guided Gerard away from the van and stood him next to one of the busses nearby. “What happened?” Frank asked.

“I went to his bus and we were talking,” Gerard said, looking at the ground instead of at Frank.

“Did he rape you?” Frank asked, knowing how much like Gerard it would be to put himself in a bad situation and not know how to get himself back out. He would be too afraid to say no if Bert made a move, and there was a chance that someone drunk or high would ignore it if he did put up a fight.

“No, Frank,” Gerard said, shaking his head quickly. “No—I… I don’t know what happened. He… He was talking about the lyrics and he showed me some new ones and…” Gerard sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Did you sleep with him?” Frank asked. “Did you just… _sleep_ with him? I was out looking for you for over an hour!”

“No! Frank, I didn’t let it get that far,” Gerard said, looking Frank in the eye for the first time. “I wouldn’t cheat on you. I love you, you know that.”

Frank wanted to believe him. His eyes looked so genuine. 

“So why do you have a hickey on your neck?” Frank asked. Gerard looked away again and sighed.

“When he was showing me the lyrics he had his hand on my shoulder, then my leg and…I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want him to get mad. I don’t know how to handle that kind of thing,” Gerard said. “I thought if I told him not to touch me he’d hurt me. That’s what the guys always did to me before.”

“But you told him not to kiss you?” Frank asked. It didn’t add up. As much as it made sense for Gerard to be in the bad situation and refuse to speak up in fear of receiving pain, Frank also knew that Gerard liked Bert. Frank _knew_ Gerard… Gerard was very weak willed. When he wanted something, no matter what the price, he would take it. And it was obvious that he admired Bert. How much he admired him, though, that was up for debate…

“He kissed me and I pushed him back, but then he kissed me again and I froze for a minute. Nothing happened, Frank. I made him stop when he got to my neck. All I could think about was you—I didn’t want him, I swear.”

“Did you tell him we’re together?—that you’re seeing someone?”

“No,” Gerard said, looking down. “When I got him to stop kissing me I just ran. I didn’t want to explain. I just wanted to find you. I didn’t keep it a secret.”

“You’re only telling me now because I saw the hickey,” Frank snapped. 

“I don’t want you mad at me,” Gerard said, looking like he might cry. “I can’t have you mad, Frank. I can’t handle it. You’re all I have.”

“Just promise me you’ll stay away from him,” Frank said.

“I want to be his friend,” Gerard said, childish naivety in his eyes. “Frank, his lyrics—”

“He’s not his lyrics, Gerard. You can like his music and not have to _fuck him!_ ”

“I didn’t!” Gerard said, tears welling in his eyes. “I wouldn’t cheat on you!”

“You have before,” Frank said.

After Gerard really started crying, Frank sighed and forced his anger back down. It did nothing but push Gerard away if he got mad at him.

“I didn’t want him to kiss me,” Gerard said.

“I know. Come on. Let’s…let’s get back before they leave without us.”

Gerard tried to kiss him, but Frank turned away. 

“Frank, please, please—I’m sorry! I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault,” Frank said, forcing himself to turn back around and kiss Gerard on the cheek. “I’m not mad. Let’s… Let’s go. We gotta go.” Frank grabbed Gerard’s hand and led him back to the van, sighing as he listened to Gerard whimpering behind him. 

Bert, a person with a creative mind just like Gerard, had eyes for _his_ boyfriend. It didn’t hurt so much because Gerard had kissed another man or had let that man mark him before making it stop. It bothered him because Bert was so much like Gerard. He was energetic but dark. Outgoing, but much deeper than he appeared on the surface.

Frank, for the first time, had real competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 should follow soon after this one :) I feel I'm finally getting back into my Frerard groove, so thanks to everyone for having been so patient with me on all my stories lately!


	7. Stolen Fires

_Chapter 7_

A few weeks passed before it was another hotel night. Tensions had risen between Gerard and Frank, but Frank refused to let them boil over. He contained himself, talked himself down when he got mad, and tried to keep his pain subdued when he would see Gerard talking to Bert.

Why was he still talking to Bert? Didn’t he see how much it hurt Frank?

Gerard kept telling Frank that he wouldn’t cheat, that he just wanted to be friends with Bert because of Bert’s talents and how “cool” he was. Frank knew Gerard had a right to make friends, that it was good for him to branch out and meet men he wasn’t afraid would hurt him… But it still hurt to look at Gerard when he was with Bert. He smiled more with Bert. He laughed more with Bert. His body language showed him as this shy, awkward, completely infatuated person and it made Frank sick to his stomach. 

Bert contrasted that awkwardness by being confident to the point of cockiness, boasting about his achievements when Gerard praised him and then becoming equally awkward and modest when Gerard spoke ill of himself. 

Frank’s heart was being held together by weak stitches when he watched Bert slowly, successfully woo Gerard. Gerard didn’t show any new hickeys even after he and Bert hung out alone a few times on The Used’s bus, but Frank was still suspicious. Bert liked Gerard, and Gerard liked being admired… He didn’t handle temptation well. 

Frank just had so many doubts…

“Frankie—Frankie, my head is killing me,” Gerard mewled. He was sober (surprisingly) and was making the most of their hotel night by acting like a little kid. At first, Frank had been irritated—Bert still weighing heavily on his thoughts—but the more Gerard acted up, the more Frank relaxed. “Frank, kiss it and make it better. Please? You have magic powers, right? You can make it stop hurting?”

“Yeah,” Frank said, giving in and laughing. He crawled onto the bed next to Gerard whose hair was still wet from his shower, and kissed him gently on the temple. “Better?”

“No. I still need a little more,” Gerard said, tilting his head to the side. 

Frank laughed and kissed a small trail down from Gerard’s temple to his lips, kissing him firmly until Gerard opened his mouth and invited Frank’s tongue inside. Just as Gerard reached out with his hand to grab onto Frank’s hip, there was a sharp knock at the door. Frank pulled back with a grunt and Gerard sighed.

“Who is it?” Gerard called.

“Oh, good, you’re home!” 

Frank growled when he recognized the voice as Bert’s. Of _course_ he would be here now. Of _course_ he and Gerard couldn’t just have a night alone together.

“Ah—I’m kinda busy right now. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” Gerard, taking in Frank’s bitter look, leaned up and started kissing Frank’s chin and neck.

“You sure? I’ve got somethin’ I want to show you!” Bert sounded so excited and Frank was terrified, _petrified_ that his lover was going to get up and indulge the other man…

“I’m sure,” Gerard said, his lips still on Frank’s throat. “Come by tomorrow when you get up.”

“Are you jerking off? You sound like you’re jerking off,” Bert said through the door.

Frank rolled his eyes, and pushed Gerard away from him, put off by Bert’s presence and voice.

“No—But I’m busy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Bert said. “Night, Jerry.”

Gerard didn’t say anything back. He grabbed Frank’s hips and rubbed then firmly, trying to get his boyfriend to accept him again. 

“Do you still want me?” Gerard asked, lying back on the mattress so Frank was overtop him.

Frank had to think for a moment, but when he saw Gerard’s eyes on him—focused intently on him as if nothing else existed—he couldn’t resist. He ducked down and started kissing Gerard again, sucking his tongue and running his hands underneath Gerard’ shirt. He toyed with one of Gerard’s nipples, making his lover moan and tilt his hips upwards in an attempt to get friction. 

Frank shifted so Gerard could rub against his groin, sighing in pleasure as Gerard grinded against him. Gerard reached out and started undoing Frank’s jeans, his hands practically shaking from the anticipation. It had been so long since they’d even been able to give each other rushed handjobs. Gerard was desperate for contact and it showed—and Frank was so relieved that he was the one Gerard wanted, the one Gerard yearned for. 

It wasn’t long before Gerard and Frank had both undressed, lying naked in the bed, smoothing their hands over each other’s skin and kissing until their lips were swollen and bruised. Gerard spread his legs to rocked back his hips so Frank could position himself, prepping him with slick fingers until he could easily press inside. Like before, Gerard refused to let Frank use a condom, saying he wanted to feel Frank and nothing but Frank.

Gerard wrapped his arms around Frank’s torso, digging in with his nails until he raised small droplets of blood. It hurt, but Frank tried not to focus on it. But it wasn’t hard to become distracted. Gerard was moaning in his ear, whimpering every now and then and calling Frank’s name under his breath. Whenever Frank would thrust against his prostate, Gerard would cry out shrilly and dig his nails in that much harder. Frank tried to stroke Gerard in time with his thrusts, wanting to bring his lover to the edge even though he wished their night could go on forever. 

When they were like this—when Gerard was beneath him moaning _his_ name, scratching _his_ back—Frank knew he was safe. That Gerard wouldn’t leave or risk losing what they had to take a chance on Bert… When he had Gerard nearly weeping pleasure, writhing under the force of the sensations that he’d been so long deprived of, he knew Gerard was his. He was the only one in Gerard’s life to treat him this well, and Frank knew Gerard was aware of that as well.

Frank kissed and nipped the skin of Gerard’s throat, making sure to leave at least one mark that Bert could see, and then moved to lick the shell of his lover’s ear, making Gerard shudder. Moments later, Gerard was a whimpering mess, rocking his hips to meet Frank’s thrusts and bucking into Frank’s hand. One of Gerard’s hands slid from Frank’s back to fist it in Frank’s hair, moaning hard and loud as he reached his peak—just on the edge of orgasm. 

His breathing started to falter as he choked on the pleasure, so, so close. 

And then there was another knock at the door.

Gerard let out a loud, pained sound and stared up at Frank with wide eyes—looking horrified and pleading for forgiveness in the same second.

“What!?” Frank called, unable to keep his hips still. The bed was creaking, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to stop—he shouldn’t have to stop.

“Hey—open up. It’s me, Brian.”

“Shit,” Frank hissed. “Busy,” he managed to say, biting back a moan. Gerard was still writhing underneath him, desperate to reach climax but unable to reach the edge when his focus was now on the door.

“It’s important. I need to talk to you guys _now._ ”

“Just a second,” Frank said, leaning down to kiss Gerard on the lips, hoping his lover would cum so he could as well. But Gerard was too distracted.

“Now, Frank,” Brian said, knocking on the door as if Frank hadn’t already heard him.

Frank sighed in frustration and pulled out, cringing as he pinched the base of his member in a desperate attempt to force himself to lose the mood. He grabbed his boxers and t-shirt, slipping them both on before tossing the blanket over Gerard who lie on the bed whimpering and looking close to tears. Frank had to force Gerard’s shirt back on him and then kicked the rest of their discarded clothing under the bed before going to the door and opening it a crack.

“What do you want?” Frank asked. “Why can’t this wait?”

“We got news from the label,” Brian said. “They want you guys to do a video.”

“A video?” 

“A music video to go along with the release of your new album.”

Frank was torn between excitement for the band and pain for his lover who was lying in the bed audibly weeping from the pain of his ruined orgasm. 

“Is he okay?” Brian asked, looking over Frank’s shoulder at Gerard who was slowly curling himself into a ball.

“I was helping him out, but… I told you we were busy,” Frank said.

“Is he drunk?” Brian whispered.

“No. He’s having a bad night.”

Brian sighed and leaned back from the doorway.

“You’ve got this?” Brian asked.

“Yes,” Frank said firmly, wanting Brian to go away so he could go back to Gerard even if the moment was ruined. They waited _months_ for this. Why did it have to get ruined?

“Alright. I’ll come by again tomorrow to talk about it. You can probably guess which songs they want. Try to see if he can come up with some ideas.”

“Fine, fine,” Frank said, trying to get Brian to go. After what felt like hours, Frank was able to close and lock the door and go back to Gerard. “Hey—Don’t cry. Don’t cry—why are you crying?”

Frank curled up next to Gerard on the bed, stroking his hair and cooing, trying to get Gerard to open up. 

“I was almost there,” Gerard whimpered, covering his face with the pillow when Frank kept trying to wipe his hair off his face.

“But you don’t need to cry about it,” Frank said softly. “I can get you there.”

“You don’t understand,” Gerard whimpered.

“I know—it hurts, but I can still get you off. It’s okay,” Frank said, pushing the pillow aside and kissing Gerard on the forehead. 

“You don’t understand,” Gerard repeated, covering his face with his hands and groaning. When he sobbed harder, Frank felt he did understand. It wasn’t just about the interruption, the loss of sensation, the ruined orgasm—it was about his master, his trainer, the abuse he’d endured when his pleasure was _never_ part of the equation, when his job was to provide an orgasm, not achieve one. 

“What can I do for you?” Frank asked gently. “What’s gonna help?” He stroked Gerard’s hair and managed to coax Gerard into his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, shaking his head and nuzzling Frank’s chest. “I’m sorry; I’ll stop. I’ll stop.” He tried to pull himself together, but he kept whimpering until had snuggled close and kept planting kiss after kiss on his forehead and cheeks. 

After a few minutes, Gerard accepted a kiss on the lips—a kiss that grew deeper and deeper until, through his tears, Gerard let Frank climb back on top of him so they could finish what they’d started.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard stared at his reflection in the mirror. His makeup aid had just finished with him, Frank and the others had all gone to prepare their set, and Gerard stayed behind—looking himself the eye. Bert had pulled him aside just as he’d planned to follow the others to the stage, whispered in his ear and pressed a fast, urgent kiss onto the corner of Gerard’s lips. 

Frank hadn’t seen—that was what was most important—but Gerard still felt the guilt eat away at him. It built up in his stomach and burned him, like he’d swallowed fire and topped it off with gasoline. 

“You look fuckin’ hot,” Bert had said. “You should come by my bus tonight. I’ll show you what strutting around in skinny jeans gets you, pretty boy.”

Gerard expected the words to scare him. He expected to feel horror, to remember old traumas or relive his past nightmares, but instead he found himself _intrigued._ Aroused…

“We’re not leaving Frank,” Gerard whispered to his reflection. “We’re not doing this. We’re not leaving Frank. We _love_ Frank. We’re not gonna do this to Frank.”

He wanted to bury his face in his hands, to rub at his eyes or his temples at least, but his face was covered in so much makeup he couldn’t risk smearing it and giving Frank any more indications that something wasn’t right. Ever since Bert had come around, Frank had started getting desperate, getting pushy and angry and sad. He was jealous of Bert, and maybe he had a reason to be. 

Bert was everything Gerard found attractive in a man and if he weren’t already committed to Frank, Gerard wouldn’t have wasted a second hooking up with the other man. It flattered him more than anything when Bert took him aside and propositioned him. He’d never thought Bert would have any interest in him at all, especially not after Bert had opened up to him about his former girlfriend. Nothing about that topic even hinted that Bert had eyes for men, and Gerard wasn’t disappointed that he’d been proved wrong in his assumption. 

“We’re not going to do this to Frank. Not again… Not again.” Gerard forced himself to look away from the mirror and started toward the stage after finishing up the last bits of alcohol in the bottle by his dressing table. It was all becoming too much to handle and he knew that sooner or later, some part of him was going to cave, or disintegrate, or both…

Frank was his rock through all of it, though, and he knew that. When he finally did lose his mind, he would need Frank’s support and he could never risk that for a pointless fling with his idol. Frank was more than a lover—and Bert was nothing more than a friend. Those lines didn’t need to be crossed.

He couldn’t let himself cross them. Whenever Bert came near, Gerard felt himself slipping. He was torn between feeling giddy and guilty when Bert spoke to him. It would be simple if Gerard didn’t have some feelings for the other man. If he just wanted a friendship—if he was that innocent in his affections—there would be no reason to feel guilty. If he was that innocent, Frank would never feel the need to get jealous.

If he was that innocent, he wouldn’t be Gerard Fucking Way.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard tried to keep his breathing steady as Bert began stripping off his shirt. He was nervous, but he didn’t want it to show. He was afraid that Bert might ask him to leave or tell him to just go back home to Frank…

Gerard didn’t want to think about Frank. He felt guilty for being here, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. Frank wouldn’t have to know… Bert wouldn’t tell, and all Gerard wanted was to get closer to his idol. 

It wasn’t about the sex—even if it sounded nice—it was about proving how much Bert’s attention meant to him. Bert didn’t have to talk to him or sing with him or even let him into their bus. The least Gerard could do was lend him his body…

At least, that was how he wanted to think about it.

“Come on,” Bert said, smiling a little when Gerard didn’t move to take off any of his clothes. “Are you shy?” Bert laughed at him, but it wasn’t out of meanness. He sounded playful, and reached over to pull at the hem of Gerard’s shirt.

Once his shirt was pulled off over his head, Gerard nervously crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide himself. He never exactly felt that his body was attractive…especially not around people who weren’t Frank.

Frank could make him feel desired, but one opinion hardly combatted his negative self-image.

“What?” Bert said, chuckling as he began undoing Gerard’s belt.

Gerard tried to stammer out that he was shy, but the words kept getting stuck. Especially when Bert unzipped his pants and tugged them—as well as Gerard’s boxers—down to his knees.

Once he was exposed, Gerard closed his eyes tightly and felt his cheeks burn. Part of it was shame, the other part was straight up humiliation. Whatever erection he’d had, died as soon as Bert laid eyes on him. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Bert asked, his voice half humored and half concerned. He pulled Gerard into his arms and started kissing him. Gerard kept his eyes closed, trying to kiss back without showing too much desperation. He didn’t want to come off as a groupie, even if that was what he was. He didn’t necessarily want to have more with Bert—all he wanted was his time… His attention… To be _liked_ by him.

Gerard eventually got up the courage to step out of his jeans and began fumbling with Bert’s belt. His hands were shaking so badly that his motions were useless and Bert ended up having to do it for himself.

“Are you really that scared?” Bert asked, folding his jeans as if to stall and then tossing them aside.

“I just…” Gerard let himself be folded against Bert’s chest and sighed. He felt comfortable here—even with the younger man’s erection rutting against his thigh. “We’ll…use _stuff,_ right?”

“Well, yeah…” Bert said, sounding almost offended. “Not to sound like a dick, but if you’ve got something, I don’t want to catch it. And even if you _think_ you’re clean, I’m not going to risk it.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, nodding. “Yeah. Th-that’s…that’s what I hoped.”

“Why are you freaking out?” Bert asked, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. He looked Gerard over as if scrutinizing him and Gerard felt small under his gaze. “Do you just want to go back to your room?”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head quickly. “I’ve just… I’ve had some bad experiences and…” Gerard squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the torture to end. Bert was going to see him for the freak that he was. He was going to send him back to Frank who was going to ask why he was crying and Gerard wouldn’t be able to explain why.

“Look—I’m not out to hurt you. I’ve got condoms, I’ve got lotion, I’ve got a shower we can wash off in. There’s nothing to worry about.” Bert was starting to sound anxious and Gerard was afraid he really had offended him. He didn’t want Bert to think there was something wrong with _him._ If he made _Bert_ feel undesirable, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said. “You’re just…you’re so cool and…”

Bert burst out laughing and shook the long strands of hair out of his face. He wrapped Gerard up in his arms again and kissed him sloppily on the cheek before forcing their mouths together. 

Gerard squeaked as Bert’s tongue slipped into his mouth. He tasted of stale coffee and smoke—kind of like Frank, but still not his lover. Bert snaked his hand around Gerard’s waist and cupped the back of his thigh, squeezing firmly before slipping his fingers between Gerard’s cheeks and prodding at his opening gently. Gerard let out a tiny cry of surprise, but Bert refused to break the kiss to let him speak. Their tongues swirled together and Gerard finally let himself go.

Bert wasn’t judging him. Although he was starting to finger him with a dry hand, Bert wasn’t hurting him. It was safe, and Gerard liked the change of having a lover with demands over Frank who was too plaint and conservative in their bedroom. 

“Quit trying to hide yourself,” Bert mumbled, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull Gerard’s hands away from his stomach and groin. Gerard shuddered, but found his hands being placed on Bert’s hips and tried to lose his aversions in Bert’s perfect, soft skin. He liked the feel of him beneath his hands—he wasn’t fat, but he had less muscle than Frank. He was softer, and Gerard liked the feeling of the skin rippling between his fingers.

When Gerard started to grind against Bert’s hips, his idol stepped back and broke all contact including their very passionate kiss. Gerard stood panting, afraid he was about to be told to get dressed and leave. Then he noticed Bert stepping over to the bedside table. He opened a drawer and pulled out a condom and bottle of scented lotion. 

“Come here,” Bert said, gesturing for Gerard to come to him. 

Gerard obeyed and wrung his hands together as he looked at Bert, awaiting more orders. He didn’t think twice about it. He just stood beside the bed waiting, even when Bert cocked an eyebrow and started to smirk.

“Are you…going to lay down?” Bert asked, laughing.

“Oh,” Gerard said, moving to get on the bed. “Sorry,” he mumbled, crawling onto the mattress and flinching when Bert slapped him on the back of his thighs. The blow was sharp and stung, and Gerard didn’t understand what he’d done wrong to deserve it. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Dude, Jared, you need to relax,” Bert said.

Gerard felt his heart sink into his stomach and he lowered his head. 

“It’s… Gerard. My… My name’s Gerard,” he said, his arousal once again dissipating as tears welled in his eyes. He was reminded of too many nights with too many men who either ignored his name or assigned him a new one.

_Frank_ never messed up… Frank knew who he was.

“Oh,” Bert said, sounding a little shocked. “Oh… I thought… Oh, shit. Well, now I feel like a dick. I swear—I thought your name was… My bad.”

Gerard sniffed and shrugged his shoulders as he sat down on the bed, no longer posed for the lover that didn’t even know his name. He and Bert had been hanging out for weeks…how did he not know his name?

“Hey… No, come on—Gerard, don’t take it like that. Your sound guy said your name was Jared.”

“Sound guy?” Gerard mumbled. He hated himself for feeling his stomach flutter when Bert mentioned talking about him with their sound guy.

“He said your name was Jared…”

Gerard shrugged again. Bert was trying to make it better, but it still hurt. 

“Why did you hit me?” Gerard asked, picking at the blanket of the bed.

“Because I was playing around,” Bert said. “Why? Did it hurt?”

“Yeah,” Gerard mumbled.

“Sorry. Wow… Now I _really_ feel like an asshole.” Bert sat down next to Gerard on the bed and sighed heavily. Gerard looked at him out of the corner of his eye and tried to fight the pain in his chest. “You can… You can spank me if you want—if that’ll make you feel better.”

Gerard felt his face start to burn and he looked away quickly. He didn’t turn away in time and Bert started to laugh at him again.

“You’re _really_ shy,” Bert said. “Why are you so shy?—You don’t look shy on stage. Your _songs_ aren’t shy. Why are you so shy?”

“Because you’re…cool,” Gerard mumbled. Bert laughed at him again and Gerard lowered his head.

“Stop!” Bert said, playfully. “You sound like a… God, you sound like a groupie—why are you acting like a groupie? I don’t do groupies, man.”

“I…” Gerard shook his head, but Bert wouldn’t allow him to hide.

“Come on. Spit it out. What the fuck’s up with you?” He was blunt, but he wasn’t mean. Gerard liked it… For the most part, it went straight to his dick.

“You’re… I think you’re really cool and I don’t want to fuck it up,” Gerard said. 

“Well quit,” Bert said. “You’re kind of creeping me out a little—did you really think I spanked you because I was mad?”

“Yeah,” Gerard mumbled. 

Bert laughed at him and then pulled him into a kiss. Gerard tried to push him away, but Bert just held onto him by his shoulders. With a few quick licks at his lips, Gerard opened his mouth and let Bert crawl over top of him. 

“What are your limits?” Bert whispered when he broke the kiss. His face was mere centimeters away from Gerard’s, and strands of his hair were hanging in Gerard’s face as he laid back against the pillow. 

“Li-limits?” Gerard panted, squirming slightly when Bert grinded down against his hips. 

“Limits?” Bert repeated, as if Gerard hadn’t heard him rather than didn’t understand what he meant. “You know…”

“No?” Gerard said, blinking up at him. He didn’t know what that meant. Limits? Did that mean how far Bert could put it in? Or where? 

“Come on, _limits._ Like… Obviously you don’t like being slapped—that’s a limit. Things you don’t want or don’t like.”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Gerard said, blushing. Bert giggled at him reached for the condom and lotion he’d left at the foot of the bed when he’d sat down. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Bert said, setting the wrapped condom beside Gerard’s head on the pillow. He straddled Gerard’s hips and poured some of the white, flowery scented lotion onto his fingers and worked it in slightly before pushing Gerard’s legs apart and rubbing the tips of his fingers against his opening. “You good?” Bert asked.

Gerard stared up at him, blushing darkly, and nodded. He flinched when Bert pushed two of his fingers in at once and immediately started moving them and scissoring them. He didn’t waste time on sentiments like Frank did. There was no cuddling or comforting—just the motions. Just the sex. It was like Master…but friendly. 

When Bert added a third finger, Gerard moaned and closed his eyes. Bert started twisting and curling the fingers, and once Gerard’s prostate was within reach, he pressed on it repeatedly until Gerard was almost at the edge. Gerard was afraid Bert was going to make him cum before they even got started—but deep down he knew what Bert had planned.

“Sure you can’t think of any limits?” Bert asked as he pulled out his fingers. Gerard watched him roll on the condom and slick himself with more of the lotion. The smell of it was staining the air and almost made Gerard sick to his stomach…almost. 

“Just…I don’t want hit or…yelled at or anything,” Gerard stammered. 

“Um, I guessed that much,” Bert said, chuckling. Gerard blushed and turned his face away. 

“You can’t…can’t call me names,” Gerard whispered, knowing very well if Bert mumbled whore or slut he was going to lose his mind. 

“Okay, that’s a start,” Bert said, rubbing himself against Gerard’s ass and then pressing in slowly. Gerard gasped and flailed his hands before finally grabbing onto Bert’s hips when he could reach. Bert laughed at him, but it wasn’t mean. Bert was almost childlike and playful, even if he was blunt and a little rough. 

“I-I scratch,” Gerard blurted before moaning when Bert slipped all of the way inside. “I really, really scratch and I can’t help it.” Gerard took his hands off of Bert’s hips and fisted them in the sheets as Bert leaned down to kiss and nip at his neck. Gerard stared at the wall and moaned, flinching slightly when one of Bert’s hands reached around to stroke his cheek.

“Scratching’s not one of my limits,” Bert whispered against Gerard’s neck. “In fact…” Bert moaned as he grabbed Gerard’s hand and moved to awkwardly place it on his side. Gerard shifted slightly to rock back his hips and clutched at Bert’s shoulder blade, holding him but not allowing himself to dig in. “It’s okay,” Bert said, chuckling. “Go ahead—I like it.”

Gerard started wrapping his legs around Bert’s slowly thrusting hips, and dug his nails into the skin of Bert’s back experimentally. He waited for a blow to the face that never came and then hooked his other arm around Bert’s torso so he could hold him close. 

He buried his face in Bert’s shoulder and sighed, getting used to the feeling of Bert inside of him. Bert was larger than Frank, and Gerard felt guilty for noticing it. 

After keeping his first few thrusts gentle, Bert started to pick up the pace and what was soft became rough. Gerard gasped the first few times, not used to the burn or the piercing sting, but after taking a couple moments to remind himself that this was his friend—his idol—and not Adam or Master, Gerard was able to relax into it.

It started to feel good. It started to speak to the desires he kept hidden from Frank—to be taken, used the way he was trained to be—and before he knew it, Bert’s skin was splitting under his nails. 

Gerard whimpered that he was sorry, but Bert just shushed him and then started kissing him. He swirled their tongues together and eventually reached between their bodies to give Gerard’s straining erection an encouraging stroke. Gerard bucked into his hand, and clawed at Bert’s back, getting lost in the euphoria of being taken by his idol. Bert was claiming him—taking him. The only thing better would be if he kept him.

“You’ve gotta see your face,” Bert moaned, thrusting in even harder. He thrust hard enough for the bed to begin banging into the wall, and each push slammed Bert’s cock directly against Gerard’s sweet spot. “You’ve _really_ gotta see your face.”

Gerard cried out when Bert pulled back to sit up and pushed Gerard’s arms down against the bed. 

“What did I do?” Gerard asked, looking up at Bert with fear and desperation. He tried to clench down, hoping the tightness would bring Bert back, but it only caused him to pull out all the way. “What—what did I do?” Gerard asked again, more anxious. Bert looked down at him and grinned. 

“Come here,” he said, standing up from the bed. Gerard looked at him hesitantly, but obeyed. Once he was on his feet, Bert grabbed him and turned him around so Gerard’s back was flush against his chest. He was pushed over toward the hotel room door and fell against it—his face less than an inch away from the glass mirror that was built into the door. “You’ve gotta see your face—you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Gerard was about to reply, but Bert thrust back into him again harshly. This time, Gerard’s cry was of pain, and he slammed into the door, unable to support himself. When his head banged into the door, Bert pulled back—but not all of the way out—and wrapped an arm around Gerard’s chest.

“Whoa—you okay?” Bert asked. He kissed Gerard’s cheek when he didn’t answer, and kept kissing when he saw the tears that started to well in his eyes. “It’s okay—Did that hurt? I didn’t think it would hurt—are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Gerard whimpered, moving to brace himself against the door, his fingers splayed on both sides of the mirror. He kept his head low so Bert couldn’t see him cry as he tried to regain his composure. The pain had startled him, but Bert’s sincere apologies were what made him feel bad—he wished he could’ve hidden his discomfort better. He didn’t want to ruin the mood or make him stop. 

“You sure?” Bert asked, reaching around giving Gerard’s member a few quick strokes. “Really sure?”

“Yeah,” Gerard stammered, bucking into Bert’s fist. “Really—Really good…”

Bert kissed him between the shoulder blades and gripped Gerard’s hip with his free hand. He returned to his former pace, but couldn’t thrust as deep in their new position. Gerard tried to push back his hips, but Bert wouldn’t let him move a fraction of an inch. Even if he couldn’t go in as far, Bert still struck Gerard’s prostate with every other thrust and had Gerard mewling in minutes. 

“Come on—you gotta see yourself,” Bert said, taking his hand off of Gerard’s hip and using it to forcibly turn Gerard’s head to his reflection in the mirror. 

Gerard stared himself in the eyes and moaned as Bert thrust into him. He could see Bert behind him, watching him hungrily while kissing and licking at the side of his neck. Gerard was about to ask permission when a particularly hard thrust against his prostate combined with an increase in the pressure around his cock caused his voice to break into a scream of pleasure. He was barely able to keep himself supported as he felt his muscles start to spasm.

Bert’s hand appeared under his chin and he was made to look himself in the eye as he came. He didn’t want to look, but he was afraid that if he closed his eyes, Bert would become angry. He heard his cum spatter against the surface of the mirror and he looked down at the streaking mess. 

Gerard fell against the door as Bert continued to thrust into him. It wasn’t long before Bert was whispering erotic nothings into his ear and his hips stuttered to a stop with his cock buried deep inside. 

When Bert pulled out, Gerard moved to turn around so he could steal a kiss or just a hug, but Bert stopped him and made him look at the mirror.

“Look at that,” Bert whispered, kissing the side of Gerard’s head. Gerard tried to shake his head, but Bert clicked his tongue. “No—Come on. Look.”

“I don’t want to,” Gerard whispered, feeling his stomach start to constrict as he was pulled back into Bert’s arms. 

“Come on—you look so good. You don’t need to be shy.” Bert was trying to be gentle, but the more insistent he became, the worse Gerard felt. 

He didn’t want to look in that mirror. He didn’t want to see a cheater or a worthless fucking whore.

“Gerard… Come on. You’ve got that pretty face…” As he said it, he started stroking Gerard’s cheek. “You’ve got a nice shape…” Gerard swallowed hard when Bert’s hand slid down his chest and rubbed at his pudgy stomach. Nice shape? He was fat… Fucking fat. Hideous. “And _this…”_ Gerard whimpered when Bert ran his palm gently over Gerard’s oversensitive cock.

“Please stop,” Gerard whispered.

“What?” Bert mumbled. He sounded gentle, but Gerard was sick. He was terrified and haunted. “Look—Just look. Look at the mirror!” 

With a quiet whimper, Gerard opened his eyes and looked over his body. He saw what he’d been trained to see. A pretty face and a disgusting body. Everything from the neck down repulsed him. This was torture… It was painful.

It was what he deserved for cheating on Frank.

“Come on—you’ve got not right to have weight issues,” Bert snapped. “What’s the matter with you?”

Gerard sank down to the floor, becoming eye-level with the spatter of cum on the mirror. He was afraid Bert would shove his face in it—suddenly afraid of an anger and hostility that had never been there before.

“What?” Bert pressed, kneeling down beside him. Gerard started shaking and stared at the disgusting creature he saw reflected in the mirror. 

“Bad memory,” Gerard whispered, closing his eyes and lowering his head so he didn’t have to see himself anymore. Like before, he was a prisoner in his own ugly body.

“Of a mirror?” Bert asked.

“I don’t…”

“You don’t wanna talk about it, but you want to sit on the floor and cry over it?” Bert asked cynically. Gerard whimpered and wrapped his arms around himself protectively as he trembled. “What!?” Bert called, not angry but desperate. 

“I can’t tell you,” Gerard cried. Bert could never know his secrets. Never. 

“Why?” Bert asked, more annoyed than sympathetic. 

“You…you won’t want to be my friend anymore,” Gerard whispered, turning his back to the mirror even if it meant sitting with his face near Bert’s exposed dick. 

“Why do you think that?” Bert asked, turning away and stripping off the condom. He threw it into the bedside trashcan and then came back to Gerard’s side. He hooked his hands under Gerard’s arms and forcibly pulled him to his feet. “Get in the bed. You’re having a fucking panic attack.”

Gerard stumbled over to the mattress and laid down slowly. He was waiting to be hit, but it didn’t come. Bert started picking up their clothes from the floor and stepped into his boxers. 

“Here. Clothes will make you feel better…” 

Gerard accepted the underwear and shirt given to him and hurriedly put them on while Bert’s back was turned. His body was hurting, and there was no way he was going to be able to hide his affair from Frank. Unless Frank was blind or stupid, he would see the limp and he would know…

“Now spill it,” Bert said, putting a hand on Gerard’s back once he sat down beside him.

“It’s nothing,” Gerard whispered. Bert growled in frustration and Gerard caved. He didn’t want to make Bert mad. Bert was all he was going to have left when Frank found out what happened… “Okay. I was…raped one time and he made me look in the mirror like that.” It wasn’t true—not exactly. It was his trainer who’d hurt him, and his trainer had never really raped him. He just made him look and told him what to see. He told him to be disgusted at his own reflection and he was…

“You were raped?” Bert asked, looking at Gerard as if he were some piece of broken glass. 

“Yeah, a few times,” Gerard whispered. 

“So… _limits,_ ” Bert said firmly. “No mirrors—no rape play. No force stuff.”

“I like force stuff,” Gerard mumbled. 

“What parts of it?” Bert asked. “I need to know.”

“Why?” Gerard asked.

“So I know the next time!” Bert said, looking at Gerard as if he were dumb. Gerard stared at him in shock. Next time? Bert wanted a next time?—His _idol_ wanted more of him?

“Oh…” Instead of joy he felt dread. He could lie to Frank once, but never twice—he could never hide a reoccurring event. Frank was too smart for that. Too good for that.

“So what do you like? What’s _not_ going to scare you?” Bert asked, starting to rub Gerard’s shoulder.

“Like…you can tell me what to do, and if you tell me first you can…can probably tie me up.”

“Probably?” Bert asked skeptically.

“I’ve never tried it, but…” Gerard looked down at the bed and chewed his lip. 

Frank was going to leave him… That was the first thing Gerard had to accept. Frank was going to leave him and he was going to have to fall in love with Bert if he had any hope of surviving. 

“Okay. So maybe we’ll give that a try sometime. Anything else you _don’t_ want?” 

Gerard thought to mention the toys, but he was afraid it might make Bert mad. Toys scared him, but he didn’t think it would be too horrible if Bert just presented them one at a time… Bert wouldn’t hurt him with them. 

“Come on…” Bert pressed.

“Don’t hit me,” Gerard whispered. 

“We got that earlier.”

“Don’t…cut me?”

“I’m not into that,” Bert said, looking at him with pity. 

“Or bring someone else in,” Gerard said. One horror he’d never been forced to endure was two men at once. It was something that haunted his nightmares.

“Okay, yeah… That’s fine,” Bert said, shrugging. “We’ll…talk more about it later. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Gerard looked up at Bert and tried to offer him a smile, wanting Bert to know he wasn’t broken or as fragile as he seemed. Bert looked straight through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, everyone! Hopefully you're not...too mad about this chapter being what it is. You knew it was coming, deep down inside. Now how will Gerard hide it? Or will he? See you again soon!


	8. You Don't Know A Thing

_Chapter 8_

Bert ran his hands down Gerard’s sides, holding him close and enjoying his warmth. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was in love with the crazy little fan boy, but there was affection in his touches and compassion in thoughts regarding the awkward, shy wannabe rock star. When Gerard wasn’t obsessing over Bert, he proved to be a very talented writer and artist. He often made sketches of Bert and members of his band in various guises, and even made short comics to keep Bert entertained. 

The sex was good—that was for sure—even though at least one out of every three times they came together, Gerard ended up having a panic attack even though he knew what his safeword was and knew he wouldn’t get in trouble for using it. Bert had a feeling there was something Gerard wasn’t telling him, but any attempts to pry caused Gerard to hide away and drink by himself for days on end. Then he’d cling to his bandmates—usually Frank—and then, only after Bert apologized and promised not to ask anymore, Gerard would come around and ask to get tied up. 

The fucker loved getting tied up—like it made him feel secure rather than helpless. He was strange in his fetish, and Bert never used to think of anyone’s sexual intrigues as strange. He accepted that everybody had some secret desire and he didn’t care to judge anyone based on it—but Gerard was just different. 

Usually during a scene when one of Bert’s lovers would get the look of complete and utter despair in their eyes instead of pleasure or lust, that was when safewords came or he decided to stop on their behalf. With Gerard…that helplessness and sorrow seemed to be what he wanted out of the night. He _wanted_ hurt. He wanted _cruel_ dominance—to leave feeling defeated, ashamed, and low. Gerard had issues, but Bert knew he wasn’t allowed to keep digging to find out what they were.

“You’re really hot,” Bert whispered, kissing Gerard’s neck and then taking a step back. It was time for Gerard to go leave Bert’s bus for his MCR’s van. Like always, Gerard was still lost in sub-space and Bert had to work hard to bring him out of it before sending him away. He’d made the mistake of letting Gerard go off on his own when he was overly passive and gone from his head. The idiot wandered half a mile away from the venue and crawled under a pickup truck in a gas station parking lot. The cops returned him to the venue three hours after he’d disappeared and said they were going to take him to the hospital before he broke out of his haze and begged to go back to the concert hall. 

“I feel kind of sick,” Gerard whispered. 

“You want me to walk you back to your guys?” Bert asked. “If you don’t think you can make it on your own—”

“I’ll be okay,” Gerard said, pressing his forehead against Bert’s and whining softly. Bert never knew what to do with him when he got like this. He was so pathetic—but not in a way that repulsed Bert. He sensed that something was wrong with the other man, that he was damaged in some way and was using Bert as a tool to work it out.

If he’d been seeking a serious relationship, getting used that way would’ve pissed him off, but since he used Gerard as fan boy/friend with benefits he guessed he could function as Gerard’s sex counselor if that was what the other guy needed. 

“I know we didn’t really get the chance to…cuddle or whatever, but we’ve gotta head to the next venue in, like, fifteen minutes so…” Bert trailed off, knowing Gerard understood no matter how upset he was. And he was obviously sad about something. 

“I know,” Gerard said, stepping back from Bert’s hands and lowering his head. “I’ll go. I…” Gerard never finished his sentence. He shook his head and stumbled out of the bus, limping from pain and making Bert cringe. He took it too far tonight. He knew he had… He wished he had time to give Gerard the attention and after care he needed, but he couldn’t stay on their bus and their driver had interrupted them twice telling them it was time to start driving.

Bert watched as Gerard stumbled through the parking lot. He fell to his knees at one point and Bert shook his head before moving to leave the bus and go help him back onto his feet. Before he even stepped out onto the pavement, one of Gerard’s bandmates appeared and pulled him up. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray pulled Gerard up onto his feet, feeling concern hit him before the usual irritation. Gerard spent more time than ever drunk these days—and more time with Bert, too—but Gerard didn’t seem drunk this time. No, he just seemed lost. Like the night he’d hidden under some truck at a gas station in Ohio.

“Come on,” Ray said, taking off his leather jacket and wrapping it around Gerard’s shoulders. The other man was shaking, his eyes out of focus and hazy. “What did you take?” Ray asked, trying to keep the judgment out of his voice. “You’re acting weird. What are you on?”

“Just want Frank,” Gerard whispered.

“Okay—yeah, I’m taking you to the van, alright? You’ll get to see Frank for the next ten hours.” Ray helped Gerard limp to their van, trying to figure out if Gerard was high or drunk or disoriented from some sort of an accident. He looked as though he were in pain, but he didn’t make a single sound—not a cry, not a whimper, not a sob. “Did something happen?” Ray asked.

“Just want Frank,” Gerard repeated. 

As if on cue, Frank appeared from behind one of the tour buses and rushed over to them. 

“What happened?” He asked, seeing the way Gerard limped. 

“He won’t say,” Ray said. “He’s really out of it.”

“Did you take something?” Frank asked, looking at Gerard with concern instead of disappointment.

Gerard didn’t answer, but he tentatively opened his arms as if pleading for an embrace—a small bit of affection from the boyfriend he’d spent weeks avoiding. Of course, Frank didn’t leave him wanting. 

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked. As soon as Frank’s arms closed around him, Gerard started shaking—trembling as if freezing cold. “Sweetheart, what did you take?” Frank asked again.

“Nothing,” Gerard cried. “I haven’t even had a drink—I’m just… I don’t feel good. I’m tired—it _hurts._ It hurts so much and I don’t want to be alone.”

Ray looked to Frank and they shared a cautious glance. Gerard showed a lot of weakness on the tour. He opened up to the reporters and even the fans a bit more about being depressed, being suicidal—she showed parts of him that were only shown to Frank and Mikey before. But now, there were no walls around him at all. He was the same as he’d been when Ray had first laid eyes on him—frightened, insecure, vulnerable. 

“Gerard, did someone hurt you?” Frank asked in a hushed whisper. Gerard nodded and then let all of his weight rest on Frank’s body, slumping down onto him and sighing in agony—not quite able to cry. “Who hurt you? What happened?”

“Just want to lay down,” Gerard said. 

“You will,” Frank said, nodding and rubbing Gerard’s back. “Come on. We’ll go to the van. I won’t drive tonight, okay? I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Gerard whimpered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sweetheart. Let’s go. I’ve got you.” Frank kissed Gerard on the cheek and started to move him toward the other end of the parking lot. Ray went to Gerard’s other side to help support him as they walked.

When they got to the van, Bob and Mikey both got out so Frank and Gerard could have a moment of space to talk to each other. Ray stood next to Mikey who looked more angry than anything.

“He won’t say what happened,” Ray said, just to break the tense silence.

“He’s been fucking Bert,” Mikey spat, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. “And he needs to knock it off before Bert rips him apart.”

“Bert’s just his friend—” Ray started.

“No, he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Gerard told me,” Mikey said, shrugging like it meant nothing. Even Bob groaned in disgust when he heard.

“What the hell is he doing with Bert!?” Ray exclaimed in a harsh whisper. 

“Getting the shit kicked out of him apparently.”

“That’s not fair to Frank,” Bob said. “Someone’s gotta tell him.”

“You’re not sayin’ shit,” Mikey said, no emotion in his tone. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s a dick move,” Bob muttered. “He’s going to kill this band.”

“You tell Frank and he’s going to kill himself. You get my brother killed and I’ll murder you.”

“And what about Frank? If this comes out it’ll kill _him._ He lives for that idiot.”

“He knows how Gerard is.”

“It’s going to break his heart,” Ray said, feeling anger and pain set in. Gerard had already dragged Frank through so much, had Frank carry him through so much, and now he was making Frank coddle him after putting himself in a position to get hurt. 

“What the hell does he even see in Bert?” Bob muttered. “The guy’s weird. He’s high half the time and drunk the rest.”

“It’s complicated,” Mikey repeated. “We get a hotel the week after next. Hopefully Gerard will spend that time with his boyfriend instead of Bert and put this whole thing behind him.”

 

( ) ( ) ( )

Ever since their stay in the hotel, Gerard had been looking at him differently. Frank couldn’t understand what the meaning was behind that look, but it worried him. Gerard looked almost frightened, certainly upset and worried about something, but whenever Frank asked, all Gerard would say was “it’s nothing. Please, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” Those same three sentences. Again and again. 

Frank tried to let it go, passed it off as just another mood Gerard was in because of the stress of the tour. It became harder to ignore, however, when Gerard’s already terrible drinking habit just served to get worse. If there was a bar within reach of a venue, Gerard would find it. If not, he’d find the nearest gas station and buy as many cases of beer as he could carry—or how many he and _Bert_ could carry. That other man was with them all the time now, always with Gerard, always touching Gerard in some way, always throwing his arm around Gerard’s shoulders or touching foreheads with him when they were talking.

They were too friendly with each other. The gestures far too intimate for Frank’s liking. But any efforts to bring it up to Gerard ended in failure, even now when Gerard was crying into his lap in the backseat of the van, Gerard wouldn’t confess anything. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Frank said, at a loss for any other soothing words. “I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you…” He stoked Gerard’s hair to soothe him, but Gerard continued to tremble and cry. He wasn’t in hysterics yet, but Frank could tell Gerard was already far worse than he had been when he’d wandered off down the road and hid under some stranger’s vehicle in hopes of being overlooked and run over. (His true intentions being a detail he only shared with Frank in private.) If Ray hadn’t found him lying in the parking lot, he probably would’ve crawled under someone’s bus and no one would’ve thought to look there before driving over top of him and crushing him in the process.

“I want to go home,” Gerard whimpered. “I want to just be us and our dogs, Frank. I’d do anything to go home right now. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this.”

“We’ll get a break soon and we can go home. We can get the dogs from my mom’s house and we can sleep in and stay in bed all day together. Oh, I know, you can go back to your studio and paint or draw. It’ll be nice,” Frank said, babbling in hopes it would give Gerard some comfort. “Then after a couple weeks we’ll get to go to California and shoot a video. Brian says once we get a video on TV we know we’ve made it. Our band will be the real thing—just like you wanted.”

“I just want to go home,” Gerard whispered. “This is going to ruin us. I’m going to lose everything.”

“You won’t lose anything, Gerard. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.” Frank was trying to be reassuring, but everything he said just seemed to make Gerard feel worse. “What happened, Gerard? I know you’re upset.”

“I can’t tell you,” Gerard whispered. He looked at Frank sadly and then reached out to stroke Frank’s cheek. “I love you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Why would I doubt that?”

“Because I avoid you and I don’t…I don’t do things with you anymore.”

“Gerard, we don’t have time to do things like that on tour—not unless we’re at the hotel.”

“At the hotels, I don’t stay with you anymore,” Gerard said.

“You go…spend time with Bert,” Frank said, trying to sound sympathetic when the topic of Bert really just pissed him off. “He’s your friend and…it’s good for you to have friends outside of the band.”

“I’m horrible to you, Frank,” Gerard whispered, sobbing and pressing his head against Frank’s shoulder. “I’m so horrible.”

“You’re not…you’re not _bad,_ Gerard. Why do you say that?” 

Gerard looked like he was about to answer, like he was really going to admit what had happened…or maybe confess what he and Bert were actually doing when they disappeared together between shows. 

He was about to, and then Mikey opened the door to the van and got in. 

“We’ve gotta go,” he said. “We’re already fuckin’ late.”

( ) ( ) ( )

“I really don’t know, Frank,” Gerard said, looking at Frank through the mirror. He was applying his own makeup for the show, his hands shaking too much to get the look he wanted. “I…I can talk to him about it, but… People like Bert, you know, they—they just do what they want. I don’t wanna piss him off.”

“Telling him to give you some space isn’t going to piss him off,” Frank said. He’d caught Bert with his boyfriend in the corner of the venue bathroom, Bert’s hand squeezing firmly between his boyfriend’s legs. It pissed him off—Bert saw how much it pissed him off—and Gerard, drunk probably drugged Gerard, looked smug about it. “It makes me uncomfortable to have him _touching_ you all the time. I know other people don’t know about us, but that doesn’t mean we’re not together anymore.”

“I know,” Gerard said, looking down at the eyeliner in his hand, biting his bottom lip as he fought off tears. 

“Gerard, what’s _wrong_ with you? You’re not…being yourself.” Frank went over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Gerard flinched and pulled away. “Gerard.”

“It’s nothing. Please, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“It’s _not_ nothing. I _am_ worried about it. You’re _not_ fucking fine, and I’m sick of you telling me you are. What happened?”

“I can’t do this right now,” Gerard said, shaking his head and trying to focus his attention on his makeup again. 

“Gerard, we’re not going to have another chance to talk about this until next _month._ Just _talk_ to me.”

“Frank, I can’t,” Gerard said.

“Why? You… You shut me out. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re… You’ve been upset before, you’ve been hurt before—but you’ve never treated me like this.”

“Don’t say that,” Gerard whispered. “Frank… You don’t understand.”

“I know I don’t! That’s why I want you to talk to me. What the hell happened to you?”

“I can’t do this before we go on stage.”

“Gerard… Please, just tell me something. Give me—give me a _clue_ or _anything._ I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Gerard said, swallowing hard and finishing his eye makeup. 

“Do you even love me?” Frank asked after a brief silence. “The way you looked at me today…Gerard, I don’t… I don’t think you do anymore.”

“I’ll always love you, Frank,” Gerard said, looking at Frank through the mirror instead of facing him directly. “You’re the most important person to me. I’d die for you and you know it.”

“Well you don’t act like it,” Frank said. “Do you know how much it hurt to see him with his hands on you and to have you _glare_ at me for catching you? You’re with him now, aren’t you?”

“Frank—”

“Answer me!” Frank shouted. “Don’t lie to my fucking face! You liked him the moment you saw and now you’re letting that asshole get you wasted and take advantage of you!”

“No one’s taking advantage of me,” Gerard said, finally looking at Frank instead of staring at him through the mirror.

“Answer the question, Gerard! You’re with him.”

“I’m not dating Bert,” Gerard said.

“I never fucking said dating—I said _fucking._ You’re fucking Bert behind my fucking back. Aren’t you?”

“No,” Gerard said, holding eye contact for a brief moment before lowering his gaze. Frank didn’t know if Gerard was being sincere or not.

“Gerard, I want you to listen to me. I know you idolize Bert. I know you think he’s like you—I know he’s artistic like you are and he thinks the way you do, but he’s not _good_ for you. He’s got you on drugs again I’m afraid I’m going to lose you—and not just to him.”

“I’m not taking drugs,” Gerard whispered. He didn’t look at Frank as he said it and Frank inhaled sharply as he tried to deflect the anger that came from being lied to.

“I’m sick of you lying to me!” Frank yelled. “You’re cheating on me.”

“I’m not,” Gerard said, looking up again.

“You have marks on your back and hickeys and bite marks—don’t tell me you gave them to yourself.”

“Frank, it’s not what you think…”

“Are you fucking him or not?”

“No.”

“Quit lying to me. I know what I saw earlier. I know that look—you used to give me that look. Back when you first moved into my apartment—back when you got pissed off because I wouldn’t take you back to your master. That’s the look you gave me.”

Gerard was quiet for a moment and then shook his head.

“It’s not the same,” Gerard said. “I’m sleeping with Bert. Why would he want to get with someone like me anyway? He’s… He’s too cool for a loser like me.”

Something about the sorrow on his face made Frank want to believe him—but he just couldn’t. It was enough to make him doubt when he’d spent months privately believing was true. But only a little. 

“If you seeing him you need to stop. _I_ love you. He doesn’t.” With that, Frank turned away and left before the pain really set in. He didn’t know if he’d done something to lose Gerard’s trust, or if Bert had really managed to worm his way in between them. Either way, he’d have to win Gerard back. Again. Just like always. Because a person as fickle as Gerard never stayed in one place for long and any life made with him required constant maintenance.

Gerard may have said he wasn’t good enough for a guy like Bert, but the truth was Frank wasn’t good enough for a man like Gerard.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Dude, what’s up with your guitar?” Bert said, ambushing Gerard after the show.

“My guitar?” Gerard asked, shaking his head through the disorientation, partial deafness and nausea. “I don’t have a guitar.” The booze was wearing off, leaving Gerard exhausted, dizzy, and so close to tears it wasn’t even funny.

“No—I mean your guitar player. That tiny motherfucker.”

“That’s _Frank._ You know Frank…”

“He’s got an _attitude_ tonight,” Bert said, wrapping Gerard up in his arms and kissing him on the throat before nipping at the skin hard enough to leave a mark.

“Don’t!” Gerard yelled, pulling back and looking quickly toward the door—trying decided if he should run or if Bert would let him walk away.

“What’s wrong with you? I’m just playin’ around,” Bert said, laughing at Gerard’s discomfort because he just didn’t understand. 

“Don’t,” Gerard repeated. “What did Frank do?”

“Oh, right—he came up to me during your intermission, I was gonna come talk to you but he got in the way, and started telling me that I needed to back off. He _literally_ told me to quit touching you. What’ve you been tellin’ him about us, huh? Did he see the rope marks from our last time together and get the wrong idea?” Bert laughed and kissed Gerard’s neck again, only backing off when Gerard let out a small cry of fear. “What?”

“Please, Bert—”

“Oh? You want to play like that, huh?” Bert asked, missing all the signs that Gerard was trying so hard to send.

“Stop!” Gerard cried when Bert snaked a hand between his legs. “Please.”

Bert just kept touching, daring to slide a hand under the hem of Gerard’s sweat-soaked shirt.

“It’s okay,” Bert said, kissing Gerard’s cheek and then whispering in his ear. “You know what to say to make it stop.”

It was true. And yet Gerard said nothing. He never used their safeword. He never had the nerve, even when he felt he needed it. They’d been together six times since the first—more times than he and Frank had been together since the tour started—and more of Gerard’s soul died each time. Bert never noticed it, but Frank did. Frank seemed to know each time it happened, yet at the same time he didn’t know anything. 

Gerard didn’t fight it when Bert pulled him into one of the venue’s filthy bathroom stalls. It was supposed to feel like an honor to be handled like this—to have Bert do what he wanted with his body. Gerard used to feel elated, special, valued when Bert came to him. Whatever “scene” Bert wanted to enact, Gerard went along with readily—happily. Now he felt fear because he learned fast that he never had enough courage to say what really hurt and what hurt in the ways he wanted. What’d hoped to have with Bert—attention from is idol that took care of all his secret desires Frank refused to entertain—was not what he’d gotten. Bert knew dominance, Gerard knew complete submission, but they were from entirely different worlds. Bert’s idea of dominance came with fake force and real pain. Gerard’s submission came with terror and anxiety and only the smallest bit of pleasure. 

Bert tried to be accommodating—apologizing when he realized sometimes that Gerard was too far in what Bert called “sub-space” to use their safeword or indicate that he was uncomfortable. He’d back off the force then and kiss more than bite or strike. Even that, however, was too little too late. 

Gerard whimpered with each thrust, pressing his cheek to the cold metal of the bathroom stall. Bert was tugging on Gerard’s hair, keeping his head craned back the way he always did when he wanted Gerard to make noise. All Gerard could manage where his tiny whimpers, everything else feeling like sobs. He was on the edge of tears but knew if he started to cry Bert would get upset as well. 

“Feel good, Sugar?” Bert grunted, kissing Gerard’s neck as he reached around and began stroking him. 

Gerard felt the first tear fall then, he tried to fight it, but then they just kept coming. This wasn’t a scene like what happened in hotels or on Bert’s bus when his bandmates were out. This was just sex—sex between him and Bert. There was no biting, no hitting, no tying or binding. This wasn’t what Gerard wanted. This was what he was supposed to have with Frank. There was supposed to be honor and pain with Bert, passion and intimacy with Frank.

Why were the lines getting blurred? If it stayed like this, Frank would catch on that something was going on between them. If he didn’t already know…

If Frank found out, Frank would leave. Gerard would lose him, and the band, and everything else he loved. 

“St-Stop,” Gerard whimpered. “Stop! Please, stop, Bert!”

“Shh.” Bert made his thrusts harder, thinking it was part of the game. Gerard sobbed and started scratching at the metal wall. He needed it to hurt—to remind him that this was punishment for what he was putting Frank through. If it felt good, he was cheating. So long as he was hurt in the end it was nothing more than a just punishment for letting his affections stray. He would always love Frank, but to have Bert’s attention was just as valuable to him.

He’d never met someone like Bert, someone with the same creative intuition and love for art and music. Bert’s lyrics were deep and spoke of pains Gerard didn’t think anyone else had experienced. 

“It hurts,” Gerard cried, clenching his hand into a tight fist and punching the stall wall. “It hurts! It hurts! You’re hurting me! _You’re hurting me!_ ”

“Hey—Quit!” Bert yelled. 

“It hurts! Bert, it’s really hurting!”

“You’re gonna get someone in here! Stop it!” When Gerard kept yelling, Bert lost his temper. “I said quit! Stop!” He grabbed Gerard by the back of the head and slammed his face into the metal wall. “Shut your fucking mouth now.”

Gerard whimpered and went silent. Bert was still inside him, pressed in as far as he could go.

“Are you done screaming?” Bert snapped.

“Yes,” Gerard whispered.

“Do you want me to fuckin’ stop? Are you done?”

“No,” Gerard said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t shout that like again unless you’re using the safeword. I don’t want someone to think I’m actually hurting you.”

“Yes, master,” Gerard muttered, halfway hopeful that Bert wouldn’t hear.

_“Master?_ The fuck is wrong with you?” Bert asked, panting angrily. “Jesus Christ… Do that again and I’m dumping you.” He started moving again, not making him thrusts any gentler. If anything, he became more brutal. Gerard didn’t make a sound after being struck against the wall. He’d been put in his place and he knew to be quiet. He knew to be silent and take his punishment. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey finally found Gerard after searching for over an hour, cowering in the corner of a disgusting bathroom stall. His first thoughts were to think the worst—Gerard had been attacked, he’d taken some kind of drug and was getting sick—then he forced himself to stay calm and think rationally. 

“What are you doing? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Brian is pissed. We were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago.”

Gerard just stared up at him, looking like he might cry. 

“Come on,” Mikey said, holding out his hand. 

“I can’t,” Gerard whimpered.

“Come on,” Mikey repeated. 

“I’ve done something terrible,” Gerard said, tears welling in his eyes even though he refused to let them fall. 

“I’m sure you have,” Mikey said. “Come on.” 

“Mikey, please,” Gerard cried. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Mikey sighed and flashed his hand in front of Gerard’s face again. 

“Come on. We’ll go find somewhere to talk that doesn’t smell like ass.”

When Gerard realized he wasn’t being pushed aside, that Mikey was offering to help him more than to just stand him up, he reached out and let his brother help him to his feet. Mikey put his arm around Gerard’s shoulders, letting his older brother lean on him as they made their way out of the bathroom and through the halls of the venue. They finally stopped moving when they were outside, in an open but neglected place near the power generators and a chain-link fence.

“Let’s agree to just be honest with each other, alright?” Mikey said. “I know you, and I know how you get. Let’s stop this before you spiral down any further. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Gerard nodded and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his black jacket.

“It just…it’s got so out of hand. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I know you’re sleeping with Bert.”

“What?” Gerard asked, looking up quickly in horror—like he really thought no one noticed or that Bert wasn’t telling stories behind his back.

“I know what you’re doing with Bert and you need to knock it off. Frank’s gonna find out sooner or later if this keeps happening and it’ll kill him. If you don’t want to be with Frank anymore then you need to end it. Don’t go behind his back, don’t cheat on him, just break it off.”

“I don’t want to leave Frank, that’s just it—Mikey, you have to believe me. I _love_ him.”

“So what are you doing with Bert?”

“It just… I don’t know, I—I get so messed up. I don’t think straight anymore, I can’t… Goddamnit, I don’t know! I just got messed up.”

“You got _high?_ ” Mikey asked.

“No—not like that. He’s… Bert’s like _me._ He reminds me of the sort of person _I_ would’ve been if…if none of _that_ ever happened to me. He’s—He’d deep and he’s a good person. I know you don’t like him—”

“I don’t care if he’s a fuckin’ saint, Gerard. I don’t care if he saved a baby from a burning car right in front of you. I’m asking you one specific question—what are you doing with him?”

“He’s… Mikey, he’s the sort of person I’ve always admired— _always._ He started to get closer and I thought it’d be a onetime thing, but… After tonight I think he wants more and I can’t do that because I want to be with Frank. It’s hard! It’s so fucking hard because I can’t even _kiss_ Frank because of all the people and the cameras. It feels like nothing is real anymore and I’m fucking messed up. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Okay, okay,” Mikey said, sighing and patting Gerard’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe him before he started to choke or pass out. “Alright. Just calm down. I get that it’s hard for you and Frank right now trying to keep a secret, but shit with Bert isn’t going to stay private. People have seen you together, Bert _says_ things. It’s going to get out to the media. Bert isn’t a nobody. His relationships get broadcasted.”

“What do you mean he says things?” Gerard asked, staring at Mikey in fear. 

“He’s been telling people he slept with you. Frank hasn’t heard anything yet, but I have and Ray, too.”

“Ray will tell Frank…”

“Yeah. I know. It’s weird for me to be begging him not to. So do the smart thing and break it off—get the fuck away from Bert before he ruins your life. He’s not a good person.”

“You don’t _know_ him.”

“This is what I’m talking about! Quit defending him! Do you want to be with Frank or do you want to be with Bert?”

“I love Frank—”

“Then get over Bert.”

“It’s…”

“It is that simple,” Mikey said, rolling his eyes. 

“I don’t want him to be mad,” Gerard whispered. “And he’s been through a lot already and I don’t want to be another disappointment to him.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you started _cheating_ with him. I don’t understand you. Frank mentioned to Ray that you won’t sleep with him even at the hotels. I wish I didn’t know about that, but I do—that’s how upset your fucking boyfriend is; he’s going to Ray to vent about your sex lives. You used to throw tantrums when you couldn’t get in Frank’s pants, now you don’t even want him.”

“I do want him! But I can’t after I’m with Bert—he’ll _notice._ ”

“Why are you doing this?” Mikey asked, rubbing his face and eyes. “Just because you want to be friends with someone doesn’t mean you have to take it to the next level. If you were happy sleeping with him I wouldn’t give a shit—it’s your life—but when you go missing for hours and drink even more than what I thought was possible, I know you’re not happy. So what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

“I didn’t think it would happen more than once,” Gerard whimpered. “It was good the first time… He does things Frank won’t, but…it’s too much now. He hurts me worse than I thought he would and I can’t work up the nerve to make him stop. I get afraid of him and it’s not his fault that I won’t say anything.”

“It’s because you were trained not to!” Mikey yelled. “He hurts you and you won’t say anything because you think you can’t—or you _want_ to think you can’t. I don’t know—you’re fucking complicated, Gerard.”

“It’s just… The tour. I feel like I can’t control anything that happens anymore. I don’t know where I am until I’m told what city to greet when I’m on stage, I don’t sleep enough and there no food… When I’m with Bert I don’t have to think about any of it. It’s nice until it starts to hurt. I thought I wanted hurt but now I can’t take and I’m scared of him.” 

“But that’s what you’re with him for—to have someone you’re afraid of, someone who’ll treat you like shit because Frank won’t do it and for some twisted reason you think you deserve it.”

“I just… I wanted Bert to like me and when he offered I was afraid if I said no he wouldn’t talk to me anymore and—”

“You wanted a friend, I get it. But, Gerard, you never had to take it to that level. You didn’t. If you’d have said no he would’ve probably gotten embarrassed but that’s all.”

“Don’t make me feel worse,” Gerard said, rubbing at his face with his hands. “I’m scared, and I hurt… I’m hurt.”

“End this thing with Bert. He disrespects you, he hurts you… You don’t mean _anything_ to him and if you don’t stop now you’re just going to get hurt _worse_ later.”

“What am I gonna tell Frankie? He’s…he’s suspicious and I know he knows. Deep down he knows what I’m doing and I just keep lying to his face. He’s gonna hate me… No matter what I do I’ve already ruined everything and I didn’t _mean_ to.”

“If you want, I can talk to Frank.”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “He… He can’t know.”

“Gerard… I’m done going in circles with you. Bert _hurts_ you. You don’t like it. End it.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you’re gonna lose Frank. You can’t have them both.”

“I just want to go home… If Bert’s not around it’ll…it’ll get better.”

Gerard had shut down. His eyes were glazed over and distant, lost somewhere in his own thoughts. Mikey shook his head and grabbed Gerard by the arm. 

“Come on. Let’s go to the van. We’re late.”

Gerard moved without any resistance. He walked with a limp and a dark bruise was forming on his cheek that Frank was going to notice. 

( ) ( ) ( )

“I think Gerry’s goin’ crazy,” Bert said to Quinn as he flopped down on the couch on their bus.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. We were doin’ it in the bathroom—”

“You’re fuckin’ gross man. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Nah, hear me out. We were doin’ it the bathroom and he just starts _screaming._ I couldn’t get him to stop. He does this _all_ the time—”

“Pro tip, Bert, when the person you’re fucking starts screaming, you might wanna quit.”

“No, it’s not like that. This is what he and I do—he likes to pretend to pretend he’s getting raped.”

“He’s a fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Hey,” Bert snapped in warning.

“Whatever, sorry.”

“Anyway, he was screaming and I lost my fuckin’ temper—I put his face into the wall.”

“That’s a good way to get arrested for assault,” Quinn said before leaning down to pick up a discarded magazine from the floor. 

“I didn’t do it hard. I just wanted him to stop screaming. I thought someone was gonna come in and think I was _actually_ raping him.”

“Well, maybe you were. He was screaming.”

“We have a safeword,” Bert said. “He knows he can use it. He just doesn’t.”

“I think he’s weird,” Quinn said while yawning. “I wish you didn’t have him on our bus all the time. I can’t stand him.”

“Why? He’s funny.”

“He’s _weird._ I’m sick of you talking about him all the time. You’re just as obsessed with him as he is with you.”

“No,” Bert said, laughing. “He’s at groupie status. He always tells me I’m ‘cool.’”

“You’re an asshole. You use all the toilet paper.”

“He’d slap you for saying that. He’s—he’s funny. He gets all pissy if anyone says bad things about me.”

“He’s a fuckin’ groupie who’s on tour with you. I don’t see how you stand it.”

“It’s flattering. At first it was annoying but once he stopped being all shy and weird—”

“He’s still weird.”

“—he’s been good company.”

“A good fuck is what you mean.”

“That too,” Bert said with a laugh. “He gets a lot out of my music and that’s pretty cool. I like to know I’m actually getting a message out instead of just singing catchy tunes, you know? I put a lot in my lyrics and it’s nice to have someone appreciate it.”

“His lyrics are pretty good, I’ll give him that,” Quinn said. “But I still don’t see why you’re taking him to bed. He’s not your type.”

“Sure he is—he looks like a girl, he acts like a girl, he boosts my ego, and he doesn’t make me spend any money on him.”

“You buy him booze all the time.”

“Yeah, but that’s because I want to. He’s funnier when he’s drunk.”

“You mean easier,” Quinn said, tossing the magazine aside with a heavy sigh. “I heard something about him and I think you should know about it.”

“What?”

“Rumor has it, he and Frank are a thing.”

“Well…Gerard and I aren’t exactly together. If he wants to fuck up his band by getting with one of his bandmates, that’s all on him.”

“I don’t mean they’re messing around—one of the stage manager said they’re dating. Seriously, living together, dating.”

Bert paused for a moment, things starting to click into place. The way Frank would get mad at him for being near Gerard, how he started getting pissy and yelling at him to keep his distance from Gerard… But Gerard had said he was single. He never mentioned Frank or avoided talking about him like he was trying to keep a secret. And having marks on his skin from ropes and whippings weren’t exactly something he could hide if he had a boyfriend or say he did to himself. 

“No, I don’t…”

“Bert, come on. You don’t _know_ him.”

“If anything’s happening between him and Frank it’s just casual—and I don’t care. I’m not exclusively dating Gerard.”

“Whatever you say. But if Frank thinks they’re serious and he starts getting jealous, it’s just gonna make trouble.”

“I’ll talk to Gerard about it after the next show.”

“Do it when he’s sober,” Quinn said.

“He’s weird sober,” Bert said. Quinn muttered something about how Gerard was weird all the time, but Bert wasn’t listening. He didn’t understand why, all of a sudden, he was starting to feel slighted—jealous. He didn’t want anything serious with Gerard. Tour was no place to start a real relationship, but he guessed he could understand that screwing the same guy for two months was bound to get his emotions mixed up… He just didn’t understand why all of a sudden he was starting to feel hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is a little jumbled and maybe confusing, but I wrote it while coming in and out of a pain medicine haze so I hope it wasn't too bad. I just got in the mood to write and didn't want to let it pass when I've been so bad about updating lately. I also wanted to show everyone's POV before the next few chapters when the spiking and dropping REALLY starts. :) Hope to see you soon!


	9. Promise not to Cry

_Chapter 9_

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you about somethin’ really quick,” Bert said, slapping Gerard on the arm. They were both drunk out of their minds, huddled up in a dirty corner backstage of the venue. The Used had just finished performing and Gerard had one more show to wait through before it would be his turn to go. 

“Hm?” Gerard moaned, lolling his head over onto Bert’s shoulder. “I don’t feel good, Bert. I’mma be sick.”

“You’re fine. I want to talk to you ‘bout something.”

“What?” Gerard moaned.

“What’s going on between you and Frank?”

“Frankie?” Gerard asked. “Is he over here? I thought he was in the van—he’s sick. Frankie’s sick.”

“You fuckin’ Frank on the side?” Bert asked.

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head. He almost looked sad about it.

“Good—cause I’d fuck.you.up,” Bert said, slowly inclining his head to lean against Gerard’s. 

“What?” Gerard moaned, pulling away.

“If you were fuckin’ Frank, I’d fuck you up,” Bert said, looking at Gerard and trying to look serious. He couldn’t keep his eyes focused and felt like he was about to pass out. “Man, I need… I need to score. Come here.”

Bert stood up and grabbed Gerard by the wrist, pulling him up.

“I wanna stay here. I don’t feel good,” Gerard whimpered. Despite his protests, he went where Bert led him, outside into the parking lot where a large group of people was standing around yelling and conversing with one another. Gerard hated crowds and tried to pull back, but Bert wouldn’t let him go.

Bert pulled him into the middle of the crowd, between people who were passing joints and pills back and forth. They went over to a man that Bert knew well and Gerard groaned in discomfort as Bert traded a few crumpled bills for a bag of powder, a tiny paper envelope, and a couple loose pills.

After he got his fix, Bert dragged Gerard to a secluded spot between two tour buses and sat him down on the ground. 

“’Should take this,” he said, pushing one of the pills into Gerard’s hand. “It’ll fix _all_ your problems.”

“I don’t want to,” Gerard said, leaning his head back against the bus and staring up at the dark sky. He didn’t want to do anything—not sing, not sleep, not snort, and not swallow. All the drugs just made him think of his trainer and doing lines off of the coffee table after getting the shit kicked out of him. 

“Come on,” Bert said. “Stop being stuck up. Just try it. You’ll feel better.”

“Why do you like me?” Gerard asked, letting Bert push the pill back into his hand.

“Because you’re fuckin’ crazy like me and you let me do gross shit to you.” Bert laughed at the last part because it was joke to him. Gerard didn’t think it was so funny anymore. He liked Bert’s attention and he loved getting close enough to see into Bert’s mind, but he learned fast that being put into painful situations didn’t arouse him like he’d thought—it just scared him and made him remember bad times. “And you’re hot,” Bert said as he fumbled around for something in his pocket he could use to create a flat surface he could snort off of. “And you’re pretty.” Bert started laughing and then did a line off of a business card. It wasn’t long enough to give him a good buzz on its own so he did three more. “Take the pill—you’ll feel good. You’ll be _flying_ on the stage.”

“Or fall off it,” Gerard mumbled. Bert didn’t hear him. 

“Take your pill,” he said, and kept saying over and over until Gerard finally did. 

Once he swallowed it he had the urge to run behind the bus and make himself throw it back up before it could take effect. He didn’t want back on the drugs. He knew where that life had taken him once before and he didn’t want the same thing to happen between him and Bert. Sometimes he accidentally called Bert “master” during their scenes—but that was only because sometimes the lines between cool, artistic Bert and high, sadistic, angry Bert got blurred. Half of Bert—the real Bert underneath the drugs and the pressure of touring—was a person Gerard would love to spend all of his spare time with. A person who was so similar to himself and what he’d always wanted to be that Gerard could hardly stand to be away from him. Then there was the other half—the half which made Gerard fear for his safety and his skin. Sometimes scenes didn’t feel like scenes but rather excuses for Bert to take out all of his anger. Especially on the nights when Bert either said they didn’t have time for aftercare or when he simply refused to give it because he wanted to be alone more than he wanted to be a “babysitter.” 

Bert liked Gerard. He was attracted to Gerard and liked sleeping with Gerard and manipulating him—but Bert didn’t love him. Bert would never love him and was slowly making Gerard believe that he didn’t deserved to be loved at all without ever having to say it out loud. 

“What am I doing?” Gerard asked himself, staring at the sky and feeling sick—and dizzy. So fucking dizzy. He thought of Frank—he thought of Frank’s gentle kisses and strong, comforting arms. Then he thought of Bert beating him, punishing him for nothing more than being pretty.

“Mm, you’re rollin’, Baby,” Bert said, moaning and reaching for Gerard’s face. He pulled Gerard into a kiss, then laid him down against the pavement, then got him out of his pants in between buses in a crowded parking lot. 

Gerard started to get into it as the dizziness turned into a burning warmth that extended out from his core. Bert was on him, in him, all around him—making Gerard feel like he was safe and loved and protected even though he was exposed, endangered, and used. 

Then he heard someone laugh—a laugh that sounded like Frank’s even though Frank was lying down in the van fighting off the flu—and he bolted up. 

“What?” Bert asked, trying to push Gerard back down. Gerard fought him, slapping him and then shoving him away until he finally got to his feet. He pulled on his boxers and pants but forgot his shoes when he started running away. He left Bert behind, shouting after him. 

Gerard knew he’d pay for it their next “scene” but he didn’t care. He heard Frank’s laugh coming toward him—rushing toward him—and he couldn’t feel anything but terror as he ran back toward the venue. He felt as though he were being chased—like the devil was about to catch him and burn him with all the fires of hell. 

The lights and sounds all swirled together, wrapping him up like a tornado and dropping him down onto vans and busses—down flights of stairs until he was bleeding from the mouth and hands. His jeans were ripped, his knees skinned, and still the colors and lights pursued him. 

Somehow, Gerard ended up at the bottom of an outside stairwell even though he remembered going inside. A pipe—or maybe it was a rail—was digging into his back and his head was throbbing. There was a lone bulb burning overhead and it was all he could hear like a fly was caught buzzing in his brain.

“Do you think you can run from me?” A voice echoed. “You think you can run!? You think you can run!? You’re nothing! You’re no one! Nobody’s looking for you, cum-whore! They’re glad you’re gone! They’re _glad_ you’re gone! Nobody wants you! You’re fucking worthless, you slut! You’re worthless! You’re worthless!”

And still that bulb burned brighter and brighter, the voice in his head getting louder and louder until his ears were ringing and his pulse was racing so hard he felt like all his veins were about to burst. 

Gerard was dying. 

He felt like he was going to die. 

And then, all at once, he was standing on a stage in front of hundreds of people and the only thing that hurt was his throat from screaming out lyrics—not sure if they were actually his or Bert’s. People were cheering for him, pumping their fists in the flickering lights. He could actually hear them screaming his name. His name…

What would Trainer think of that? His worthless little nobody had a stadium of people cheering his name, wanting to take him home… Girls came up to him after shows and told him how hot he was and how admirable he was and how talented he was. Even when he couldn’t say anything in response except for scripted words of thanks, even when he just bowed his head in embarrassment and smiled bashfully at their kind words, they told him they loved him and begged for him to sign something for them. His name had worth now—it wasn’t just something for them to scream when he’d done someone wrong. 

Gerard bowed on stage, felt a warm hand run down his back, turned around and stared at Frank. 

Frank was trying to say something to him, but Gerard couldn’t hear his voice—he tried reading his lips but it still made no sense. Frank just kept moving his lips, over and over, looking at Gerard sadly. He looked so sad and small there on the stage surrounded by all the bright, flashing lights. Didn’t he hear the people screaming his name, too? They shouted for Frank just as much as they shouted for Gerard. 

“They love you, Frank,” Gerard said, grabbing his boyfriend by the forearms and pulling him close. “Don’t worry, they love you!”

“Gerard, you’re—” but Frank’s words got lost in the noise from the crowd because, without a second thought, Gerard yanked him forward and kissed him hard. He grabbed Frank by the back of the head to keep him pinned and kissed him harder and harder, moaning at how good it felt to hold Frank close—to kiss Frank hard. Frank. Having the feeling of Frank’s body in his hands. 

He slid his tongue into Frank’s mouth, sucking his tongue, stroking his sides as he pushed him backstage. Frank’s fingers raked through Gerard’s hair, his other hand grasping Gerard’s hip. Frank was moaning too, even though people all around were staring at them.

Gerard let the sensations swirl around him—all the lights, the screeching microphones and the fading shrieks of the crowd—let it take him higher and higher, taking him to realms of pleasure he’d forgotten existed as he and Frank slipped into a dark space together. It didn’t matter if anyone saw or heard or came in and watched—holding Frank close and feeling him press inside was all that mattered. Moaning out Frank’s name and scratching Frank’s back—coming into Frank’s hand while Frank finished inside of him. 

Being used by Frank, using Frank in return, moaning his name and hearing Frank moan his… Gerard wished it would never end.

And then it was gone again, snuffed out leaving nothing but that bright, bright bulb over his head. Burning. Buzzing. _Burning._ Buzzing. Buzzing…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank moaned softly, finally catching his breath and getting enough to composure to open the door of the janitor closet. He looked around for Gerard once he was in the hall, but couldn’t see his boyfriend anywhere—his fuckin’ sexy, hot as fucking hell boyfriend. He knew Gerard was trashed and out of his mind, but he couldn’t deny that what had just happened—the scene that had just transpired—had been so close to what he and Gerard had had back during his memory lapse years and that was something Frank was desperately missing. 

Gerard had been like an entirely different person from the moment he appeared on stage to sing to the second he’d finished. He’d shown a side of himself to the audience he’d never exposed before, and then turned his passion to Frank in front of everyone—kissed him right there on stage in front of everybody. 

And that kiss turned deeper and deeper, and Frank—with just enough booze in his system—got so into it he was ready to rip off Gerard’s clothes right there in front of everybody. Gerard was into him, attracted to him, lusting for him—not for Bert—and had shown that to everyone. Their secret was out, but Frank didn’t care. He couldn’t.

For the first time in years, sex with Gerard had just been sex—there was no comforting, no coddling, no reassuring afterwards to ward off tears. Gerard pulled them into the closet, stripped off their clothes, turned his back to Frank and leaned against the wall, presenting himself to his lover. They had no condoms, no lubricant, but it hadn’t mattered. Gerard didn’t cry, he didn’t scream, he just moaned as Frank entered him, rocked back against Frank’s thrusts, screamed in pleasure instead of fear or pain or trauma. He made sound Frank had never heard from him before—shaking growls, high-pitched panting and cries of ecstasy so intoxicating Frank couldn’t believe it was real. Even when Gerard turned around and insisted they do it on the floor instead of against the wall, Frank didn’t care—blood dripped down his back and stained his shirt from Gerard’s nails, but he didn’t give fuck. It’d been good—it had been perfect.

Frank stepped out into the parking lot and looked for Gerard once again. He didn’t see his lover anywhere, but didn’t feel too concerned. Gerard would be back—he had to. Frank wanted seconds. 

He made his way over to the van where Ray, Mikey, and Bob were waiting. They stared at him, Mikey with displeased, raised eyebrows, and Ray with a look of humor. Bob said nothing and stared ahead with sunglasses covering his eyes even though it was dark. 

“Have fun?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Frank said, laughing and scratching his head. 

“Where’s Gerard?” Mikey asked. 

“I… I don’t know. We… We finished and he just walked off. I thought he’d come here,” Frank said. Perhaps there was more alcohol in his system than he’d thought. He wanted to feel worry, but he doubted Gerard had gotten himself into any trouble. He was probably off with Bert…

“So he’s missing…” Mikey said, rolling his eyes. 

“Let’s go find him,” Ray said, sighing and stepping away from the van. “Bob, you can…wait here in case he comes back.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bob muttered before cursing under his breath about how much trouble Gerard was.

Frank and the others searched for Gerard and asked around the venue but to no avail. A sound tech mentioned seeing him go out through a side door, but didn’t know for certain if it was Gerard. 

Frank was finally the one to find him, and nearly collapsed at the sight of him. He’d peered down a small stairwell leading into the basement of the venue and spotted a dark figure at the base of the steps just lying there. It was Gerard.

“Gerard?” Frank called, his heart pounding as he looked down the steps at his boyfriend. Had he fallen? He must’ve, why else would he just lie there? If he fell, he could’ve broken his neck—he could be paralyzed or dead. Slowly, Frank descended the stairs and came to stand at the base under a dim, yellow bulb. “Gerard?”

He stooped down and noticed that Gerard was at least still breathing and but there was blood on his mouth and on his knees and palms, but instead of unconscious—instead of crying from pain—Gerard was just staring up at the yellow light bulb above them.

“Baby?” Frank whispered, touching Gerard’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Gerard jolted away from him and sat up, staring at Frank wide-eyed as if he didn’t even see him approach. 

“What are you doing, Baby?” Frank asked, touching Gerard’s arm in an attempt to calm him. “Are you okay?” Gerard still looked terrified—feral—like an animal trapped in a corner. “Gerard, what happened? Did someone beat you? What?”

“He’s coming,” Gerard whispered, swallowing hard and staggering onto his feet. “He’s coming! Frank, don’t let him get me! Don’t let him take me again!”

Frank sighed and opened his arms to offer Gerard an embrace. Another flashback.

“Gerard, it’s okay. You have no master. No one is going to take you. You’re free now.”

“Not Master,” Gerard whispered, shaking his head rapidly back and forth and pressing back against the wall in utter hysterics. “Frank, don’t let him hurt me anymore. Frank, please—please. I’m sorry—please, don’t let him hurt me. He’s gonna hurt me! I don’t wanna hurt anymore!” Gerard started sobbing and buried his face in his bloodied hands. 

Frank tried to wrap him in an embrace to console him, but Gerard just shrieked and fell away. 

“Gerard, who are afraid of?” Frank asked, stroking Gerard’s hair gently until Gerard stopped flinching at every touch.

“Bert,” Gerard wept, finally breaking and lying limp on the ground as his sorrow overtook him. “He’s gonna hurt me again.”

“Hurt you again?” Frank asked, his entire body flashing hot in mixed rage and fear. 

“I don’t want him to hurt me. _Please_ don’t let him hurt me again. Frank, I’m _sorry._ ”

“What do you mean _hurt you again?_ ” Frank asked, rubbing Gerard’s back soothingly and trying to get his boyfriend to sit up. 

Nothing made sense anymore. Gerard had been amazing on stage, he’d been passionate and alive and vivacious. Now he was just a weeping mess and refused to say anything other than pleas for protection. 

“Gerard, what did Bert do? Huh? What did he do to you?”

Gerard never answered, he just laid against Frank’s chest and cried. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard hid from Bert all the way to the time for the break in their tour. Bert tried and tried to get him to come around, but Gerard hid—going so far as to use Mikey as a living shield and chaperone so he could never be caught alone. He’d spoken to Bert a few times, but never stayed near him long enough to get coaxed onto his bus or slipped anymore drugs. 

And then finally, _finally_ he was able to set foot in his own home—his little house with the dogs back and Frank busily putting away their small amount of luggage and equipment. For the first time in months, Gerard felt safe. In the weeks since he’d stopped seeing Bert, his bruises had all faded away except for the more serious marks on the backs of his thighs from Bert’s belt and one of the rope marks on his wrist, but he hoped Frank would never have to see to notice. 

“Glad to be home?” Frank asked, kissing Gerard on the cheek as he walked around him in the living room.

“Yes,” Gerard said, nodding. “Definitely yes.”

“I’m gonna take a shower once I get this put away. You wanna join?” Frank asked, quirking his brow and trying to fight off a smile. 

Gerard wanted to say yes. They hadn’t slept together since Gerard had been drugged that night by Bert, but there were lights in the shower and light meant Frank could see all the new scars—far too many to pass off as anything other than a whipping.

“I…”

“Aw, come on, Gerard. It’s been forever.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, biting his lip and trying to smile in the same moment. Maybe if he kept his back against the wall Frank wouldn’t see—or if he just stayed behind Frank the whole time. He didn’t want his whole break to be a fight between him and Frank over Bert…

“I love you,” Frank said, smiling and going into the bedroom to finish putting things away. 

“I love you too,” Gerard whispered. 

If he went in that shower, Frank was going to see that scars. Frank already knew Bert had hurt him—he’d said as much when he’d been panicking as he came down from the pill that night—but if Frank saw where or how he was going to either assume rape (which deep down Frank knew wasn’t true) or rough sex.

Frank wasn’t stupid. Frank knew what was happening under his nose, he was just too good of a man to call Gerard out on it. He was too good of a man for a whore like Gerard…

“Frank?” Gerard left the living room and hurried into the bedroom, chewing his lip anxiously. He couldn’t do this to Frank. He loved him. He admired Bert—loved Bert’s attention—but Frank was the only man he’d ever really loved. 

“What?” Frank asked, his tone still upbeat.

“I…” Gerard bit his lip hard and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to do this to them again, but he couldn’t take it to the edge and make Frank find out on his own. He needed to man up and tell him. Tell him he was a lying, cheating, waste of flesh. “I have a secret.”

“That never ends well,” Frank said, all of the happiness leaving his posture as his voice became little more than a dull whisper. He already knew what Gerard was going to say. He’d known it from day one. “What is it?”

When Frank turned to face him, Gerard lost all of his confidence and bit his lip. He couldn’t do this to Frank. He _loved_ him. He couldn’t lose him… If he told, he’d lose him. That couldn’t happen… He needed Frank. He needed to be with Frank.

“I’m…I’m afraid you won’t understand,” Gerard whispered. He was going to lie again. He was going to lie to Frank again… 

“What, Gerard? Just tell me. I can’t do this anymore.” Frank crossed his arms over his chest and sighed heavily.

“I… I let Bert b-beat me,” Gerard stammered. He doubted he could convince Frank that Bert whipped him but didn’t sleep with him. The two went hand in hand, and only a fool would believe otherwise.

“What?”

“Bert… I let him beat me. I-I have…I have new scars.”

“I knew it,” Frank said, looking away and blinking back tears. “I _knew_ you were cheating on me. Why did you lie? I’ve asked you over and over and you always lie!”

“I’m not _sleeping_ with him—”

“What he just slaps you a few times and then lets you walk out? You know I’m not stupid, Gerard.”

“I don’t sleep with him, Frank. He really just…beats me.”

“I’m not _stupid_ , Gerard.”

“Frank, we don’t have sex—”

“Yes you do!”

“No, Frankie—please believe me. I don’t. I really _don’t_ sleep with him.”

“Why do you keep _lying_ to me?”

“I’m not lying. He hits me so hard I _can’t_ sleep with him. It’s not about the sex, it’s about—”

“I know what it’s about! It’s about you fucking someone behind my back and then twisting it around so that I’m still the bad guy and you can do no wrong. That’s how it _always_ is with you.”

“Frank, I swear to you…”

“You swear to me?” Frank asked, looking Gerard straight in the eyes. Gerard made himself hold the eye contact. Sometimes when he lied to Master he could look him in the face and Master would believe whatever he said. 

“I swear, Frank. It’s…It’s not sex. It’s… It _is_ cheating. I know it’s still cheating, but we’ve never had sex… We just talk and then he… We have the scenes.”

“Scenes?” Frank asked, swallowing hard as if he were about to be sick.

“Like…if I do bad on stage, he’ll beat me after and tell me how to be better. It hurts, but…it’s what I thought I wanted.”

“You don’t…don’t fuck him when he’s done tying you up? I’ve seen the rope burns, Gerard. I’m not blind.”

“He did that when I started fighting him,” Gerard lied, making it convincing when tears welled in his eyes. “The last time I tried to push him away and he drugged me. That’s when he pushed me down the stairs at the venue.”

“What?” Frank asked, starting to look concerned. “He’s the one who pushed you?” 

“He said… He said it was payback for punching him,” Gerard whispered. “He wanted me to sleep with him that night. He got mad when I said no, but I didn’t want to cheat, Frank. I really love you.”

“You’re telling me the night I found you—found you at the bottom of a stone stairwell—that Bert _pushed_ you?”

“Yes, Frank,” Gerard said, looking Frank in the eyes. It could be true… Gerard didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. All he remembered was the burning, bright light. 

“After he tried to rape you? Bert tried to _rape_ you?”

“No,” Gerard shook his head. He would never call Bert a rapist. Not for anything in the world. He loved Bert. He loved Bert, but he loved Frank too—and he could never give up what Frank offered him. “He wanted me to and…when I said no he started beating me more—harder. He hit me harder. And…” 

What was really Gerard’s failure to form a coherent story came across to Frank like fear. Frank started to believe him, really believe him that he had never really gone all the way with Bert even though he’d let the other man run his hands all over every intimate part of him.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank gagged when he saw all the marks on Gerard’s thighs. They’d showered separately, but Gerard had come into the room and began undressing as Frank was drying his hair. Frank chanced a small glance in Gerard’s direction as the other man had stepped into the shower, and lost it when he saw how many dark, seemingly permanent marks lined the curves of Gerard’s thighs. 

He wanted to feel sorry for Gerard, but instead he just felt nothing. Their relationship had gotten strained when they were on the tour. It didn’t even feel like they were dating anymore except for that one moment on stage when Gerard had started kissing him so hard—a night that ended with Gerard apparently beaten at the bottom of an outside stairwell down to the venue’s basement. What would’ve happened if that door to the boiler area had been left unlocked? Would Bert have dragged Gerard in there and had his way with him?

It made sense to think of it now that Gerard had been drugged that night. He hadn’t been himself and now Frank knew that Bert was to blame. Bert gave Gerard the drug that made Gerard remember who his actual boyfriend was. 

He didn’t know if he forgave Gerard or not. Frank knew Gerard wanted to be dominated, that he’d been trained to receive punishment and pain to keep him feeling grounded, but at the same time he didn’t want Gerard to go to someone else for that even though Frank wouldn’t give it to him. It was still cheating. If Gerard wanted them to stay together—if Frank decided that was even possible for them—he would need to stop it. He couldn’t be around Bert anymore, not to show lyrics, not to get inspiration, not for friendship—nothing. 

When the truth finally came out—if that’s what Gerard’s stammering had actually been—Frank had anticipated that it would hurt more than it did. Maybe he’d simply become numb after seeing Gerard with Bert so often, but Frank felt next to nothing. He was hurt, but it mostly just a dull ache that had been there for a long time…

Maybe he just didn’t want to feel it yet. They were going to be home alone together for the first time in months and he didn’t want to spend that time fighting. He didn’t care if that made him naïve or immature. He loved his boyfriend and didn’t want to lose him—and if he opened up to the realization that he’d been cheated on yet again, he doubted he would actually forgive Gerard this time. Once had hurt enough. 

When Gerard got out of the shower, Frank felt himself shutting down. He wanted to pretend that the tour didn’t exist—that who they were in the van and on stage was different from who they were in the safety of their own little house. Gerard would never cheat on him, never leave him for some man who whipped him until his skin split and scabbed and scarred. 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Frank said, slipping into the bathroom as Gerard was towel-drying his hair. Gerard flinched when Frank wrapped his arms around his waist, and became so tense he started shaking even though Frank only caressed his arms and nuzzled against the back of his neck. 

Frank just wanted them to be a happy couple like before. He wanted that back. He didn’t want to hurt or feel cheated or anxious that his lover was going to leave him for someone else. 

“I love you,” Frank whispered, kissing the back of Gerard’s neck until his boyfriend turned around to face him.

“I love you, too, Frank,” Gerard said, leaning down to kiss Frank gently on the lips. “I’m sorry—”

Frank reached up to press his fingers against Gerard’s lips, silencing him.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Frank asked, his soft voice betraying more than anything else how unhappy he really was.

“It’s still early,” Gerard mumbled.

“I’m not talking about going to sleep,” Frank added.

“Do you really want me?” Gerard asked, squinting as he analyzed Frank’s face. 

“Yeah. Come on, Baby.” He took Gerard’s hand cautiously and stared at it for a moment before tugging Frank toward the bedroom.

“I’m still all wet—”

“Then come get dry,” Frank said, no emotion coming through at all. 

When they got into the bed, Frank made sure Gerard was lying on his back even though Gerard always tried to stay on all fours. He kissed him, gently at first until it got deeper and deeper—there wasn’t really any passion in it on Frank’s part, but he could feel Gerard responding. Gerard was desperate, trying to show with his lips and tongue that he loved Frank and needed him and desperately wanted Frank to stay with him even though he’d messed up.

It didn’t make up for what he’d done, but Frank let him try.


	10. Are you thinking of Me, Like I'm thinking of You?

_Chapter 10_

Frank sat on the couch in the dark, staring at the silent, black TV screen while Gerard slept—or pretended to sleep—in their bedroom. The sex had been quick and awkward. Gerard didn’t seem to remember how to do it right and, for the first time, didn’t even scratch Frank’s in the heat of the moment. Like the behavior had been beaten out of him…

On the coffee table in front of him, next to a nearly empty cup of water, was Gerard’s cell phone. Frank had never before thought to invade Gerard’s privacy—to go behind his back and start digging—but he was desperate. Gerard was lying, but Frank couldn’t _prove_ it. And when he couldn’t prove it, there was doubt. He _wanted_ to believe his boyfriend. He _wanted_ to believe that Gerard was confused and infatuated with someone else, but that he was still faithful.

Even without the sex, it still hurt that Gerard was going to someone else. He was spending so much time with Bert and so little time with Frank when they’d been on tour. There had been dozens of times that he could’ve snuck away with Frank for a private moment together, but instead he went to Bert to get “beaten.” To strip naked in front of another man and let himself get whipped until his skin split. 

And Frank was supposed to believe that the man who had once left a hickey on Gerard’s neck didn’t take it any further when the object of his lust was lying naked and _vulnerable_ in front of him? 

With a heavy sigh, Frank picked up Gerard’s phone and unlocked it. The background image was no longer a photo of him and Gerard together, but merely a picture of their dogs Bear and Pig. Frank hesitated a moment, not really sure where to start. He wanted to see what Bert and Gerard texted to each other—he _knew_ they texted each other—and he wanted to know what went on. But he was afraid to know. He didn’t _want_ to know… 

But it hurt so goddamned much already that Frank decided it couldn’t get any worse. At least the doubt would be gone. One way or another, he would know the truth without Gerard having to say anything else or lie any longer…

So Frank went into Gerard’s contacts and tapped on Bert’s name. At first he was certain Gerard would have deleted all of their messages, but Frank had never snooped through his things before and Gerard didn’t expect to have his privacy invaded. The texts were all still there. 

The last seven texts were all from Bert—all apparently unanswered as they got angrier and angrier until becoming desperate. The last text had come in around the same time that Frank had been getting in the shower. Quickly, Frank checked Gerard’s call log to see if he’d called Bert and asked him to stop texting, but the last listed calls were all to and from Lindsey and one to Gerard’s parents and then two calls to Mikey from times he’d gotten lost at venues.

Back at the texts, Frank scrolled to the very top of the thread—texts from a month and a half before—which started in the middle of a conversation. Bert had the first word.

He told Gerard to meet him on The Used’s bus. Gerard said he was busy with his bandmates. Bert told him to stop being a pussy and come over. Gerard said he was on his way. The next text came in three days later, again from Bert. 

“Gonna get u fucked up 2nite,” he said. 

“I really don’t want to drink tonight. I feel really sick ): ” Gerard had answered.

“Cmon. I got some good stuff.”

“I really don’t want to. I don’t feel good.”

“Cmon. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Frank felt sick to his stomach but made himself scroll down.

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel good.”

“Don’t make me come get u.”

The conversation ended there, and Frank couldn’t remember that exact night to decide whether or not Gerard had given in and gone or if Bert had come to take him. The next text was from two days later, sent by Gerard.

“I feel like I’m dying.” That was all. No context, no explanation.

“Come 2 my bus.”

“I don’t want to drink.”

“Come 2 my bus.”

“I just want to talk.”

“Then come 2 my bus. R u stupid?” There was a twenty minute break before Bert texted again. “Sorry ): I was just teasing you. I didnt mean 2 hurt you.”

“It’s fine. I’m with Mikey.”

“Fine. B that way.”

All of the conversations seemed to go like that. Frank scrolled through them more quickly, searching for key terms. Half way down he found some.

“You’re amzing. Your so so soo amazng.” Sent from Gerard.

“Yah I kno.”

“Cn I cmoe see yuo?”

“Yah if u come naked.”

Frank hesitated again before scrolling down. Gerard was obviously completely wasted when he sent it and his self-control around Bert was low enough when he was halfway sober.

“Noo. Im keping my pants.”

“Then I’ll beat them off u. ;) ”

“Ok.”

That was it. Okay? Frank wanted to throw the phone aside—those two simple letters seeming to say enough. But Frank made himself keep reading, but the bad feelings just got worse.

“U hurt me.” Sent from Gerard to Bert the next morning.

“Yah.”

“No. You REALLY hurt me.”

“Thats the point.” There was a two hour break before Bert texted again. “What do u mean hurt?” Twenty minutes passed. “Gerry Im sorry. Come 2 the bus. We’ll talk about it.”

“You’ll hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you ): ” Ten minutes. “I didn’t MEAN 2 hurt you. Please let me make it up 2 u ): ”

“I’m with Mikey. Ttyl.”

“Fine. Fuk u 2.”

It was four days before Bert texted again. 

“Can we talk?”

“OK.”

Nothing until two days later. 

“Had fun but stil wish u wd suk me.”

“No.”

“I’ll suk u.”

“No. I told you last night I don’t want to do that.”

“But I’ll suk u back. I dont see the problm.”

“Bert NO.”

“Fine. I’ll just get someone else.”

“Good.”

“Yah. Fuck u 2.”

Like the last few times, there was nothing but silence between the two of them until Bert texted to apologize. 

“Bby, Im srry.”

“Your drunk.”

“So r u.”

“Fuck you.”

“Thats what I want. Wanna fuk u ;) ”

“No!”

“Dont b like that. U want me.”

“Your drunk… ..”

“Come 2 my bus. We’ll talk.”

“I dnt want to talk 2 u. You hurt me.”

“U want me to!!!”

“You keep hurting me.”

“U dont say Mercy. Say Mercy I’ll stop. U kno that.”

Gerard said nothing in response. 

The next day they’d talked the entire time with a four hour break—time they were no doubt with one another. They bullshitted about how great Bert was on stage, how great _Gerard_ was on stage, how good Bert’s new lyrics were, how much _work_ Gerard’s lyrics needed. How good looking Bert was, how “fukin sxy” Gerard looked when he had his mouth open on stage. That was the last text before the four hour break. Then Gerard texted:

“I feel sick.”

Bert told him to stop complaining. Gerard asked for Bert to not be so mean. Bert told him to shove it. They started arguing. Bert called Gerard a cocktease and a slut. Gerard responded with a lone frowning face. 

Three days later, Bert was apologizing and saying he was drunk and angry and that nothing that happened was Gerard’s fault. Like always, Gerard just said Bert had hurt him and, like before, Bert told Gerard to use their “safeword” and it would stop. 

Bert was too stupid to realize Gerard _couldn’t_ use their safeword, that he would _never_ say their safeword because he wasn’t trained to do that. When he was with Bert, he went back to being a slave. It was obvious in the way that Gerard always went where Bert told him to go, even if he put up a fight.

Then Frank found the texts from the night Gerard had said Bert had given him drugs. 

“Wanna c u 2nite.” From Bert.

“Wanna c yuo 2.”

“Wanna fuk u ;) ”

“Want to drink with me?” Was it an invite or was Gerard avoiding giving an answer?

“Yah. Come 2 my bus. U got condoms?”

“No. I have beer.”

“Shuld get condoms.”

“No.”

“I only have my lucky 1 left.” Left. He only had one _left._ Did that mean he’d used them all on Gerard already or that he’d just used them all with someone else? Or did his “lucky one” mean he only carried one with him?

“I have beer,” Gerard said again.

“Wanna fuk u!!! ! Your so sxy.”

Gerard didn’t answer for ten minutes.

“Dont puss out. Cmon ): Wanna c ur cok.” Bert was like a horny teenager who couldn’t take a hint. Gerard didn’t play his game so he only became more pushy and forceful. Frank hated that when it came to Gerard, Bert’s plan was destined to work. When Gerard still didn’t answer, Bert sent one chilling message and Gerard went to him: “Come here or I’ll whip u that much harder.”

“Ok.”

There was a break in time for when Bert had to get ready to go on stage and while he performed (at which time Gerard sent him a flurry of texts praising his beautiful lyrics and how well he’d sung), then the two texted in order to find each other. Then there was another break before an assault of texts came from Bert.

“Where R u!”, “Y did u leave?”, “What happened? ): ” A break for when Gerard was onstage. “What the fuck was that!?? You leave me and start kissing FRANK on stage! What the fuck Gerard?” Nothing in response. “Y did you do that?”, “Oh now u wont answr me. Real fuckin mature.”, “Your just a slut… .. No one would wnt 2 fuk u anyway.”

Frank stared at that text for a long time. No one would want to fuck Gerard anyway? That meant he had tried and Gerard had refused him… Gerard _wasn’t_ lying. He was still a stupid idiot who let himself get manipulated and used by Bert because of whatever mad obsession or infatuation he had toward the man, but he _wasn’t_ sleeping with him. He turned Bert down every time he asked, or at least tried to dodge the question.

There was one actual conversation after that night—a very short one—where Bert, like always, apologized. He even managed to sound sincere when his ability to write in English improved drastically.

“Gerard Im sorry about those things I said. I really dont want to be fighting. I know you were fucked up last night and it was my fault. Please talk to me. I REALLY didn’t mean anything I said. I was high TOO remember? We both did things and said things we didnt mean right?”

Gerard took two hours to answer.

“I’m sorry too.” Sorry for what? Frank wanted to go grab Gerard and shake him and ask him what he had to apologize for. For kissing Frank? For kissing his _boyfriend?_

“Will you come talk to me?”

“I’m with my band.”

“Your with Frank.”

“Yes.”

“Your fucking Frank arent you?” No answer. “Don’t ignore me. That wont help US. Don’t you want to help fix US?”

Us? All of Frank’s hope started to sink away again. Bert thought they were a couple. Bert though Gerard was his boyfriend… There was no way he was dating a man and not sleeping with him. Especially not one who he got to see naked regularly in order to beat and whip mercilessly until all Gerard could do was hide away to lick his wounds until he was ready to say “you hurt me.”

Gerard’s only answer was to say he was sorry yet again but couldn’t talk to Bert right now. 

“Im sorry I said that shit. Come on. You know I didnt mean it.”

“Im sorry but I need some time to think. You hurt me Bert. Really bad this time.”

“I know and I’m sorry. If you just come to my bus we could talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine.”

Bert kept texting him once or twice a day after that, but Gerard never answer him—or he did and then deleted the individual texts. But Frank doubted he’d go through that effort. Still, even though it became obvious that whatever was going on between his boyfriend and Bert was far from pleasant, he didn’t know what had happened between them. He couldn’t say for certain that he would leave Gerard if he found out he’d slept with Bert, but he would never trust him again.

Frank sighed and backed out of the text conversation, staring down without really looking at the list of other contacts Gerard had been texting. He stayed that way for a long time, trying to piece things together and make some sense out of what was happening. Then his eyes fell upon Lindsey’s name in the list of contacts. If Gerard told anyone what was actually happening with Bert, it would be her—his best friend. 

“Try to get some sleep. I love you.” That was the last text Gerard had gotten from Lindsey, two days before the tour had ended. 

As with Bert’s messages, Frank scrolled all the way to the top and started reading. These texts began only a week before because the two talked so much. 

“I told you to stop before it got this far.” From Lindsey.

“I know. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how. I still don’t know how.”

“Just tell Bert you don’t want to talk to him anymore.”

“But I do want to talk to him.”

“Well you can’t. I’m sorry, but you need to get over it. You’re being really immature. If you just wanted him to be a friend you shouldn’t have started having the scenes with him.” Having the scenes… Was that the same as having sex? It had to be… 

But then why wouldn’t Lindsey just say “you shouldn’t have started sleeping with him” instead?

“I know. I feel like such a fuck up.” They went on and on about Gerard feeling bad without ever really saying what for besides having scenes with Bert.

There was a break of two days and then the texting began again. 

“I’m scared.” From Gerard.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Bert strangled me.”

“What?!”

“He choked me.”

“Did you lose consciousness? Where did this happen?”

“His bus. We were having a scene and I told him to stop. He hit me and coked me.”

“Did you pass out?”

“Almost.”

“Gerard I don’t like this. Please don’t see him again.”

“I don’t know what to say to Frank.”

“You told me you were going to tell him.”

“I’m afraid to. I don’t want him to leave me.”

“You told me you didn’t sleep with Bert. Why would he leave you?” Frank didn’t know if it was okay to feel relieved at the sight of it. Gerard told Lindsey he wasn’t sleeping with Bert. What purpose would Gerard have in lying to her? She was his main support system outside of Frank and Mikey; and outside of Mikey’s open dislike of Bert, he gave no indications of knowing anything was going on between Bert and Gerard. 

“Its stll cheting,” Gerard said.

“Well yes, but only a little. Are you okay?”

“Bert wants me 2 go c him. I dont want to.”

“Then don’t! You don’t have to listen to him. Think of Frank. Do you want to be with Bert or do you want to stay with Frank. Your boyfriend.”

“I want Frank. U know I want Frank.”

“Then start acting like it.”

Most of their conversations went that way except for a point where Lindsey talked a lot about her mother being sick. Frank skipped over it, trying not to dwell on it in fear he’d accidentally bring it up and give himself away. 

“He made me take drugs,” Gerard said.

“What? What do you mean he made you?”

“I dont kno. He kept telling me to take the pill. So I tok thepill.”

“What pill? Did he say what he gave you?”

“No. He just said 2 take it. I took it so he wouldnt get mad.”

“What happened?”

“Lots of things. I feel so awful.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“No. He started 2. I hit him 2 make him stop and I ran away.”

“What happened after that? Did you get away?”

“Yes. I had to go on stage. I kissed Frank on stage.”

“You kissed him on stage!?! What about your manager? Did he see?”

“I think I did… I’ts hard to remembr.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Im asleep.”

“What exactly happened to you that night?”

“I went 2 see Bert and we drank some stuff. He started talking and asked me if I was seeing Frank behind his back. Then he said if I was he’d ‘fuk me up’.”

“Are you serious?”

“He said it twice.”

“Omg. What does that even MEAN? He’ll fuck you up. That’s ridiculous!”

“It means he’ll hurt me more.”

“Gerard don’t go near him! He’s crazy!”

“I dont wanna see him anymore. I just want Frank. I love Frank.”

“I know. That’s why you have to stop this. Don’t you have a break soon?”

“Yes.”

“So why don’t you just stop talking to him over the break and then maybe he’ll have found someone else to terrorize by the time you get back.”

“Maybe. I miss Frank.”

“Where is he??”

“Next to me. Sleeping in the van. He’s still sick.”

“I hope he feels better soon.”

“Me 2. I love Frnk.” He proved it, too, when he made a point to send another text correcting “Frnk” to “*Frank.”

“He loves you too, Gerard. Don’t ruin it for someone who beats you and scares you. Okay?”

“Ok.”

“I love you. Get some sleep.”

Frank leaned back in his seat on the couch, staring at the phone still uncertain. No amount of digging was doing anything for his fears and doubts. He was starting to feel bad for Gerard, but with that pity came anger. Gerard wouldn’t even be in this mess if he just stayed faithful—if he valued what he had instead of chasing after what he didn’t.

Frank barely even noticed it as he flipped through other conversations. Gerard and Mikey—all consisting of “Where r u” and variations of “Im over here.” Gerard and Ray, much of the same. His own conversations with Gerard, more of the same…

Then Frank started to see texts coming from unknown numbers. Frank clicked on the third one and there were only four texts in the thread.

“Gerard?” From the unknown person.

“Yah.”

“This what you wanted?” Attached to the text was a photo hard to discern by the thumbnail. Frank clicked on it and leaned back against the couch when a photo of himself, prepping his guitar backstage. 

“What the fuck?” Frank whispered, backing out of the thread and clicking on the one just above it. Another four text conversation, the third one being a photo of Frank. It was the same in the next text conversation… Gerard was asking around for people to spy on him back stage? 

Then he went deeper. Instead of texts and calls he looked at what was more intimate—the photos on Gerard’s phone, not just the downloads.

He expected to see photos of Gerard with Bert—Gerard fucking Bert.

There weren’t any. There were photos instead of Frank taken from a distance. Dozens of them as if Gerard really had been spying on him, yearning to be with him but acting as though he didn’t have the right. There was only one photo of Gerard and Bert on the entire phone, and Gerard was crying in it—smiling but crying while Bert grinned and held Gerard close to him. Bert was the one taking the picture. All the photos of Frank and Gerard from before the tour—even in the early years before the band—were still there. Them kissing, them holding hands, them cuddling, them _having sex._ Gerard’s phone was full of things connecting him to Frank, and the only mentions of Bert were to say he was hurting, he was scared, he was sorry—that he wanted Frank. That he wanted Frank, not Bert.

Gerard wasn’t sleeping with Bert, he was scared of Bert. The realization made Frank feel so much better. Gerard saw Bert as his master and that was why he stayed so close to him. It was Gerard’s own damn fault for all of it, but Frank still pitied him. 

He stared a moment longer at one of the pictures Gerard had taken of him from a distance—trying to remember what day it was or where they had been. Frank had on his red t-shirt and ripped up jeans. They were in some kind of parking lot, but it looked empty so it may have been a rest stop or possibly a hotel. He was talking to someone who was outside of the frame… It wasn’t a very flattering picture…

Frank still couldn’t figure out why Gerard had been taking all of these photos. It was as though he were a shy stranger with a crush, wanting so badly to get a look at the object of his affection but too nervous to talk to him. 

Frank just didn’t understand…

He put the phone back on its home screen to hide the fact that he’d been snooping and set it back down on the coffee table. The house was quiet, the dogs not even awake and wandering around in search of food or attention.

Frank got up from the couch and crept back into the bedroom, peering through the dark to look at Gerard who lie curled up at the center of the bed, one hand extended where Frank’s body had been laid beside him.

Slowly, Frank crawled back into the bed, feeling a small spark of affection for his boyfriend. 

Gerard _hadn’t_ cheated. It was okay for Frank to still love him. It was okay to feel hurt and betrayed, but it wasn’t completely ruined. Gerard still respected him enough to not take it that far. He hadn’t slept with Bert…

Frank kissed him gently on the forehead, inadvertently waking Gerard up.

“Hm?” Gerard hummed sleepily and pulled his arm back to his chest to make more room for Frank to lie beside him. 

Gerard _hadn’t_ cheated—not completely.

“I love you,” Frank whispered. 

“Love you too,” Gerard mumbled in return, scooting a little closer and burying his head under Frank’s chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” Frank kissed the top of his head and rubbed gently at Gerard’s shoulder. 

Gerard mumbled something incomprehensible before falling back asleep, his hand fisted in Frank’s t-shirt as if to cling to him and keep him from leaving if he tried to get up from bed again.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard despised himself. He couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror let alone make himself smile when Frank tried to take photos of them together on his cell phone so he could “have something to look at on the next leg of the tour.” He made himself smile, but to him it looked so plastic and fake. He wanted to be happy that he was home with Frank, but all he felt was sorrow, disgust, loathing… 

It took two days for Frank to really start coming around, but after the first week of their break, Frank was acting as if nothing had ever happened. They’d started having sex like nothing had happened too, even though Gerard knew Frank could tell how different it still was between them.

Gerard no longer knew how to sleep with Frank—all he could remember was Bert. It was unusual to have sex without feeling pain somewhere—without being afraid that a beating would come afterwards just as a reminder… A “maintenance” punishment.

Gerard forgot what it felt like to not be afraid. Frank never hurt him, never asked him about Bert again, and insisted more than anything that they act like couple. They went grocery shopping together and walked the dogs together, held hands when they were just sitting alone at dinner in order to feel close. Frank loved him.

Gerard forgot how much Frank loved him.

On the tour he’d gotten so confused. They were together, but couldn’t touch, couldn’t hug, couldn’t kiss. He’d wanted the band so he and Frank could spend every minute together, but it was torture to be close to someone he loved and not be able to show it for fear of backlash. He wanted the band so he could be close to Frank…then he ended up using it to cheat on him.

Gerard was the worst person he could think of…

“Sweetheart, do you wanna go to the movies tonight? There’s a cool ghost movie playing. I saw the trailer this morning on tv—”

“We need to save money,” Gerard whispered. He didn’t want to go out with Frank… He didn’t want to show his face to anyone.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got more than enough. Do you know how much we save in bills because we don’t need heating or utilities while were gone? It’s like an extra hundred bucks every—”

“I’m just worried we’ll run out,” Gerard said. “I don’t work anymore.”

“Gerard, you work for the band. What are you talking about?”

“You had savings from the diner. I don’t have anything—I don’t have any money. I drank it all with Bert.”

Frank was quiet. It was the first time Bert had been mentioned since the night they’d come home.

“I just wanted to go on a date. I don’t care if I’m the one who pays,” Frank said, acting as though Bert hadn’t been brought up. His eyes betrayed him though. He was hurt by it.

“I don’t want it to come between us,” Gerard admitted.

“Why would it come between us? Gerard, I buy shit for you _all the time._ You know I don’t care.”

“I’m just… I’m just _sorry,_ ” Gerard said, sinking down at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry for everything.” He buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry. It hurt lying to Frank—it hurt remembering the stupid reason he’d lied in the beginning. 

He loved Bert’s music and how Bert’s lyrics moved him and touched him in places no other sounds had before. Some of Bert’s songs expressed the pain Gerard wasn’t brave enough to put into words, and it inspired him to do better. 

But Bert wasn’t his writings. Bert wasn’t everything he’d appeared to be. Sober and rested, at the start of the tour, Bert was friendly and happy and excited to meet every new person he could. He’d liked Gerard and Gerard had liked him back. Nothing about Bert had been threatening, and every time Gerard would embarrass himself in front of him, Bert would just smile and laugh it off.

Then the tour dragged on and Bert got more and more angry—more violent until nothing remained of that playful free spirit Gerard had started crushing on from the moment he saw him perform in the bar. Even when the scenes first started, Bert was never even half a rough as he was by the time the first stretch of the tour ended. He’d panicked the first time his belt had cut Gerard’s skin, apologized over and over and begged Gerard not to leave him. He said he’d make it up to him, that he _never_ meant to hit that hard.

How had that turned into Bert _trying_ to break skin? Trying to draw blood? Gerard tried to remember when it had changed, but couldn’t place a date or time.

It shouldn’t matter. He was with _Frank._ Frank who never, ever would hit when they were supposed to make love no matter how many times Gerard asked for it.

“Can we not…talk about that right now?” Frank asked.

“I’m sorry. I really just need you to know that I’m _sorry._ I love you.”

“I know,” Frank said, shrugging. “Look, I’m trying to move past it. Okay? I want us to go out, I—I want us to act like a couple again. We’ll never get better if you just sit in the house and feel sorry for yourself. Do you _want_ to be with me?”

“Yes! God, _yes,_ Frank. I do. Please, believe that. _Please._ ”

“Then go out with me. I just want to spend time with you…”

“Okay,” Gerard said, nodding quickly and getting up from the table. “When is it showing? We’ll go. I-I want to go with you.”

So they went to the movie and Gerard sat far down in his seat so he could incline his head onto Frank’s shoulder. They shared a bucket of popcorn and a small box of candy, and each had a small soda in their respective cup holders. Gerard snuggled into Frank’s arm through the previews and then held his hand throughout the movie.

It felt good to be close like this.

When characters started making stupid decisions that got them killed, Gerard felt free to laugh and Frank laughed with him—bouncing popcorn off his head every now and then to keep things interesting when the action lulled. They kissed a few times, and whenever Frank would get more into the movie than Gerard, Gerard would lean up and press small kisses on his chin and throat. 

Rather than the guilt he’d been muddling through for days, Gerard felt giddiness bubble in his chest whenever Frank would kiss him first. _This_ was what it was supposed to be like. _This_ had been what he was wanting from their tour. He’d wanted to sit with Frank in the van and kiss this way, he’d wanted hotel nights to be special and coveted, not stressful—not a possible opportunity to be caught up in his lies.

“I love you,” Gerard whispered, his words lost in the leading heroine’s screams. Gerard kissed Frank’s throat again—and again and again until Frank finally looked down at him.

“Hey,” Frank said, smiling. “What? You gettin’ scared?”

“Mm,” Gerard said, neither affirmatively or negatively. He was scared, but not of the film. “Do you think we’d make it?”

“Hm? Make it where?” Frank asked, not paying much attention to Gerard. His eyes were on the screen as he reached for his soda cup.

“In a horror movie. Would be the couple that lives or would we die in the first half hour?”

“Hn… Depends—do we have sex on screen?”

“Yeah, all kinds.”

_“Oh…_ Well, then we die,” Frank said, laughing. It was the law of horror films: The lovers always die.

“I’d die for you,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s throat again. 

“Not if I died first,” Frank said in a sing song voice, trying to get Gerard to be quiet no doubt so he could enjoy the end of the movie.

“I’d bring you back in the sequel,” Gerard said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be you, it’d be a demon and you’d possess me and I’d probably have to kill Mikey or something.”

“Speaking of, we need to stop by your parent’s house before the break is over.”

“Why?”

“Shh. The movie’s almost over.”

Gerard groaned and nestled further into Frank’s side. He didn’t want to see his parents. He was almost positive that Frank only mentioned it so he could get Gerard to be quiet and pout. 

Just when his spirits were starting to sink, Frank leaned over and started kissing the top of his head until Gerard finally let their lips touch in a kiss that was far too romantic for the gory imagery on the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter didn't upset anybody although it's mostly just a giant chunk of garbled texts from Gerard and others. Experimenting with text message psychology was fun, though--trying to show feelings and focus through grammar is new to me! Hope to see you again really soon! Thank you all so much for your comments and reviews :) They mean a lot to me and help me remember what I'm writing for in the first place!


	11. I Stopped Your Heart from Beating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be an entirely upbeat, happy chapter. Then the last section came out and I actually made myself tear up a little.

_Chapter 11_

Gerard woke up to a soft tickling at his throat which moved underneath his chin, along his jaw, up to his lips before he finally opened his eyes to see Frank kissing him.

“Hey,” Gerard whispered, blinking a few times and looking past Frank at the dimly lit room. “What time is it?”

“About six-thirty,” Frank said, kissing Gerard on the side of the mouth and then kissing his ear.

“Why are we up?” Gerard asked, reaching up to wrap Frank in his arms and pull him down against his chest. He closed his eyes tightly and nestled himself in Frank’s hair, still damp from his shower. “Why are you clean?”

“Because I’ve gotta be in the city at nine.”

“Why?” Gerard moaned, not awake enough to understand. “I wanna stay here. It’s not time to go back on tour…” The thought of the tour made him want to cry. At home, all of his problems were suspended as though someone had pressed pause on his life. Bert wasn’t there to cause tension, Gerard’s voice had finally stopped being raw and scratchy, some of his hearing had come back, and he no longer felt the need to drink _constantly._ He wasn’t ready to go back. He didn’t _ever_ want to go back.

“I’m gonna get my new tattoo today. Didn’t I tell you? I called the shop last week.”

“What shop?” Gerard asked, cringing slightly at the thought of the needles. “Are they safe?”

“Yeah—It’s where I got these,” Frank said, brandishing his knuckles. “And this one,” pointing to his forearm. “And these…”

Gerard moaned and rolled over, covering his head with their pillow.

“What? Do you want to stay home instead? It’s okay if you do.”

“No… I don’t want to be by myself.”

“I’m sure they have magazines you can read so you don’t have to watch. I know how you get about needles.”

Gerard climbed back out from under the pillow and made himself sit up.

“Are we driving or taking the ferry?”

“Um…it’s your call. We have time to do either. I wanted to keep our options open.”

“The drive back would be bad,” Gerard whispered. “We can take the ferry.”

“Okay. Then we could get dinner in the city and not have to worry about beating traffic. We could have a date night.”

“Won’t you be sore from…from the tattoo?”

“Yeah, but I can take it.” 

Gerard looked at him doubtfully. He didn’t like the thought of Frank being in pain—any kind of pain—no matter how willing he was to subject himself to the merciless needles.

“I can take it,” Frank repeated. “I’m Jersey tough!”

“I know… A date night would be fun, but if you start to hurt too much, tell me. It’s okay if we just come home and order pizza.”

“Alright,” Frank said, kissing Gerard on the cheek. “That means you have time to take a shower.”

Gerard groaned and laid back down.

“Come on! Get up,” Frank said, grabbing him by the hand and pulling until Gerard was on his feet.

“It’d be better if you came with me,” Gerard muttered.

“I already took my shower,” Frank said.

“Why? We could’ve showered together.”

It hurt Gerard more than it should when Frank hesitated.

“Well, if I got in the shower with you, we probably wouldn’t have gotten out until nine. And this way…I can make you breakfast while I wait.” Frank smiled like nothing at all was amiss and then kissed Gerard one more time before bouncing out of the room and into the kitchen where the dogs immediately started yapping. 

Groaning, Gerard made himself undress and wander into the bathroom to shower. He looked at himself in the mirror, sighing at the sight of the weight he’d gained on tour from drinking… Then he turned around and looked at the marks still left on him from Bert. Most of them had faded away, leaving only the palest of pink lines on his thighs. There were a couple that were still in the shape of splotchy, brown bruises, but all the open wounds had healed and Gerard felt that every day he looked more and more unblemished.

He didn’t blame Frank for not wanting to see him without clothes anymore. Every time he’d see Gerard’s thighs, all he’d think of was Bert… That’s all Gerard thought of when he’d seen the wounds at their worst—or _felt_ them.

“Sweetheart?”

Gerard flinched when Frank appeared behind him in the bathroom mirror. He wanted to grab for a towel to cover himself, but knew it wouldn’t help. Frank had already seen the marks before—nothing was going to change that now…

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you this morning. I just wanted you to know that. I woke up at four and couldn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t want to wake you up so I just went and took a shower and watched TV. I really wasn’t trying to avoid showering with you.”

“No, I know,” Gerard said, knowing he hardly looked convincing.

“Gerard, I mean it. I know you think I’m not…attracted to you anymore because of…your scars, but—I mean, I don’t _like_ them, you _know_ that, but I don’t avoid you because they’re there. I just…try not to look at them.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, hurting only slightly since Gerard already knew how much Frank hated seeing Bert’s leftovers on his boyfriend.

“French toast or pancakes?” Frank asked, trying to force a smile although he was still too anxious to pull it off.

“Whatever you want to make,” Gerard whispered.

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you,” Gerard echoed as Frank backed out of the bathroom and closed the door.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank couldn’t help but giggle when Gerard shied away from nearly every piece of furniture and every decoration in the tattoo parlor. He was scared of the leather couches, frightened of the magazines in the holder on the back wall, _terrified_ of the display counter up front. All he seemed to want to do was hold Frank’s hand and tremble. 

“Brought him with ya for once, eh, Iero?” The shop owner Jag said. 

“Yeah—this is Gerard.” Frank had gotten multiple tattoos throughout the times he and Gerard had been dating, and coming to the tattoo parlor was almost the equivalent of the Jersey housewives going to the hair salon. Jag knew about as much of Frank’s life as Ray—the only thing he didn’t know was Gerard’s bad past. He knew Gerard had a bad past, but Frank had chalked it up to an experience of domestic violence.

“He wanna get some ink too?”

“No,” Gerard and Frank both said in unison, making Frank giggle. 

“He’s scared of needles,” Frank said. “I told you that.”

“Then why you bringin’ him to a tattoo shop, man?” Jag asked, laughing and smacking his palm against the counter. “You just wanna torture him, man.”

“Nah—We’re going on a date later,” Frank said.

“You gonna be able to walk later?” Jag asked.

“Why?” Gerard interrupted. “What are you getting?”

“Yeah, what are you getting?” Jag asked, gesturing for Frank to come around the counter and follow him to the back. Frank took Gerard’s hand when his boyfriend hesitated and pulled him along.

“I want to get something like ‘Search and Destroy’ all the way around my hips,” Frank said, gesturing as though Jag didn’t realize that Frank had hips—and wonderful, curvaceous hips at that.

“A’ight. That’ll take all of an hour,” Jag said with an unfriendly huff. 

_“And_ I want guns on my back and I thought, you know, to balance it out, maybe some skulls or flowers or shit on the front on both sides of the ‘and’?” Frank said, watching as Jag nodded as he dug out his sketch paper.

“I’m not diggin’ flowers on your hips,” Jag said. “People see that, they’re gonna start callin’ you a pansy.”

“They already call me pansy—my _guitar_ is called pansy.”

“I’m not puttin’ flowers on your hips, Iero. You’re gonna lose all your street cred’ lookin’ like that.” Jag smiled a humored, gap-toothed smile and started sketching out the twisted, sprawling letters of Search and Destroy.

“I don’t know—I kind of like the idea of flowers. Like little lotuses or something.”

“No,” Jag said. “You want flowers near your dick, you’re gettin’ ‘em from someone else. Men don’t have flowers, man. You should be glad I’m lettin’ you get guns as a tramp stamp.”

“Hey—it’s not a tramp stamp!” Frank said, making sure to laugh and sound humored so Gerard wouldn’t snap. “It’s _manly._ ”

“And flowers will fuck it up, Iero. And skulls aren’t much better. Makes me think of pirates—pirates seizing your dick or some shit.”

“Okay then—what do you want to put there?” Frank grumbled. He’d liked the idea of lotuses, but if Jag had a better idea, it was best to listen. He’d never talked Frank into something he didn’t like, and had never talked him out of something without good reason. 

“What about these?” 

Frank turned to look at Gerard who was daring to thumb through the poster rack which served as the stencil gallery on the wall beside Jag’s chair. He was pointing at tiny, traditional swallows—not too masculine, not too feminine. 

“Better than flowers,” Jag said.

“I like them,” Frank said, smiling. He’d always toyed with the idea of having Gerard design a tattoo for him, but always felt Gerard would become too squeamish at the idea of his art being recreated by needles. This was the perfect lead into that conversation and Frank wasn’t about to pass it up. “Can I have them?”

“Better than fuckin, flowers,” Jag repeated, immediately starting to draw a swallow on one side of the ‘and.’ 

“I want them to be a little more…customized though. Like, I just don’t want any old swallows hanging out on my hips.”

“What about…a leprechaun one and a munchkin one because you’re short as fuck,” Jag said, laughing.

Gerard didn’t like it. Frank heard him growl but Jag either didn’t notice or didn’t care. 

“I don’t know… Search and Destroy—like, it’s got two elements going on. I want to keep that theme…”

“Well, you’ve got two swallows so there you go.”

“No… I don’t know. I just want them to be different.”

“I’ll make ‘em different colors.”

“I don’t want it in color.”

“Okay… What about a dead one and a living one.”

“A devil and an angel,” Gerard mumbled, flipping through the gallery posters again.

“That’s a cool idea,” Frank said. “Can you do that? Like, make them simple but—”

“I can give one a halo and one horns. How’s that?”

“I like it,” Frank said, smiling. “You like it, Gee?” 

“Yeah… I don’t feel good.”

“The needles ain’t even out yet,” Jag said.

“Do you have some water he can have?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. ‘t’s in the back. You know where it’s at.”

“I’m gonna get him a bottle. You wanna come with me?”

“I’m fine,” Gerard mumbled. “I should’ve brought my sketchbook.”

As Frank was ducking into the staff break room, Jag pulled out one of his old sketchpads and a pencil. 

“Knock yourself out, man. If you can come up with somethin’ cool for a tattoo design, I’ll buy it off ya.”

“Really?” 

Frank smiled at how Gerard’s entire demeanor perked up. If he was working on art, he would be happy.

“Yeah. Go crazy—just don’t mess with this design. Frankie and I got a good thing goin’ here.”

“I think your tattoo will look cool on him. How long will it take?”

“Eh…Once I get it drawn and on him…maybe four hours tops. It’s not that complicated. It’s all just line work, man. You sure you don’t wanna get one?”

“I’m fine,” Gerard mumbled, graciously accepting the bottle of water when Frank handed it to him. 

They continued to make small talk as Jag finished the sketch, and after getting Frank’s stamp of approval he left them to go work on the stencil. Gerard sat at one of the artist’s tables and worked on sketches Frank politely ignored—not wanting Gerard to get tense or stressed at the feeling of being watched—while leaning his head onto Gerard’s shoulder. It felt good to be this close to Gerard again. It was like no space had ever been between them. Gerard was sober, he was affectionate, he sad—sure—but he was loving again and he even declined to go out with Mikey because he didn’t want to leave Frank alone a few days before. 

Gerard was really trying to make their relationship work and Frank was glad to see it. _Relieved_ to see it. He just hoped it would last when Bert stepped back into the picture.

When Jag finished the stencil Frank got to strip off his shirt and sit down in the chair after some indecision about where the tattooing would start—would they begin with the gun on his back or the ‘and’ with the swallows on his stomach? In the end, Frank was laid down on the reclining chair and Jag started working on the ‘search’ on his hip.

Gerard stayed for all of ten minutes before backing out and going to wait in the sitting area at the front of the store. He said he could tell Frank was in pain and couldn’t stand to watch.

As soon as he left and was out of ear shot, Jag whispered that Frank’s boyfriend was a pussy.

( ) ( ) ( )

When it was over, Frank was shaking—not just from the pain but also the excitement. The tattoo looked _awesome._ He couldn’t be happier. He’d turned around to look at all angles of it in the mirror so many times that Jag told him to quit it—that he had been getting a tattoo, not trying on a prom dress. Gerard had come to look at the finished product, but he seemed to look more at Frank’s reddened skin more than he did the line work. He’d backed out of the room mere seconds after coming in, but Frank didn’t let it get to him. In a few days the redness and swelling would go down and shortly after that Gerard would start tracing the lines with his fingertips after they made love, like he did with all of Frank’s other tattoos. 

After Jag had disinfected and covered the tattoo, Gerard showed him some of the sketches he’d drawn. Jag offered him fifty bucks for one of his zombie sketches and Gerard asked for it to be taken off of Frank’s bill. He said that way Frank’s tattoo would be like a gift even though Gerard had no real money. 

“Are you going to be okay to go on a date?” Gerard asked, noting how carefully Frank walked.

“Yeah, I’ll just have really good posture at the table,” Frank said, giggling. No amount of pain was going to take him away from a date with Gerard. They weren’t going to have that much time left to be together like this and Frank was going to make the most of this. 

They’d decided on going to an Indian restaurant, just for the change of pace. The place was nice enough to feel classy, but was only middle-class glam. The menu was affordable—and long—but had enough vegetarian options to keep Frank satisfied and since it was the restaurant’s “happy hour,” bread and dipping sauce came complimentary. 

Frank didn’t think he’d ever seen Gerard smile so much. For some reason, coming out to the restaurant with all its bright colors and intricate prints on the walls had Gerard glowing, and whenever Gerard would look to Frank, the spark in his eyes would just get brighter. 

They kissed across the table—in public!—and held hands while just talking about nonsense things like they used to. Frank brought up old stories from the diner and Gerard gossiped about Mikey behind his back. They talked about being excited to do a music video before the tour started up again, about how Gerard had some ideas he hoped the directors would listen to. They talked long past the time when the waitress set the check down at their table.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard kissed Frank’s mouth, sucked his tongue and slid his hands carefully down Frank’s sides—certain not to go low enough to brush against Frank’s sensitive, fresh, tattoos. When Frank started moaning, Gerard ducked his head and started sucking on Frank’s throat, leaving faint marks that would be gone by morning. 

“We can’t—oh, we _can’t!_ ” Frank said, moaning and panting more than actually speaking. Despite his words, Frank’s hips bucked against Gerard’s knee, pressed just close enough between Frank’s legs. “Oh—Gerard! I-I _can’t.”_

“Let me blow you,” Gerard said, licking Frank’s ear and reaching down to stroke Frank through his jeans. Frank’s hips jerked again, but still his mouth protested. “Come on—I’ll be good for you,” Gerard added, licking his lips. “And make you moan for me.”

“Oh, god—okay, okay,” Frank said, more of a groan than anything. “But just don’t—Ah!”

Gerard cut him off, slipping a hand into the front of his jeans and squeezing. Frank was still the only man Gerard did this for, and he wanted to show Frank that nothing would change that—that nothing had ever _really_ come between them.

As soon as he had Frank’s belt and zipped undone, Gerard carefully slid Frank’s jeans down his hips and then knelt before him on the floor, not bothering to leave their living room—not caring that Frank was pressed back against their front door, not bothered at all by the dogs jumping and yapping at him so long as one of them didn’t jump high enough to hit Frank where it hurt. 

“Shouldn’t we—oh god—bedroom? Shouldn’t we—oh!” Frank sounded like he’d forgotten what it felt like to have a hot mouth close around him. 

Right away Gerard went in hard. He wasn’t trying to rush it or ruin it—he was just eager and he wanted Frank to know that Gerard hated doing this, but he would do it for Frank, he would do it _well_ for Frank, because Frank was the only one who mattered to him in the world. His trainer had beaten him and forced him to the do this, his master had starved him until he’d obeyed—no one else got Gerard in this way. It was something he only offered to Frank because it was one thing to feel Frank inside of him and know that he was the reason Frank was moaning, but it was another realm entirely to have all of his senses focused on Frank—on pleasing Frank and getting nothing in return. 

Gerard took Frank as far into his mouth as he could, sucking hard and working his tongue along the shaft. He tried to go farther, to take all of his length, but started to gag and pulled back. Frank didn’t notice, his head tipped back against the door as he moaned—still pressing his hips forward in desperation for more contact. Gerard started bobbing his head, swirling his tongue around the tip every time he pulled bag. 

He wrapped his hand around the base of Frank’s cock, stroking firmly with the motions of his mouth and then focusing entirely on the tip, pushing his tongue into the slit and swallowing the tiny drops of precum that leaked out. 

Frank slid his hands into Gerard’s hair, stroking his hair at first then tightening his hold—then tugging as Gerard started sucking harder. Gerard moved his head quickly, trying to take Frank deeper and deeper each time and reaching up to cup Frank’s balls. When trying to deep throat only made him gag a second time, Gerard pulled off—pumping Frank’s cock with his hand instead—and started licking his balls instead, sucking one into his mouth and being rewarded with a deep moan from Frank. 

It didn’t last long after that. When he no longer felt on the verge of getting sick, Gerard slid Frank’s cock back into his mouth and started bobbing his head. He swallowed around the head and tried one last time to take Frank deeper, only Frank’s fingers fisted in his hair again and held him closer, making him work through the reflex to gag. Gerard’s eyes started to water and drool leaked from the corner of his mouth as Frank inadvertently made him take it deeper. 

Gerard groaned, trying to pull back but feeling a small twinge of fear when Frank didn’t let up. He looked up, half afraid that Frank would be glaring down at him—waiting until just this moment to sprint his cruel punishment on Gerard for cheating on him during the tour—but Frank had his head tipped back against the door still and was moaning desperately, almost sounding like he were close to tears. 

Trying to distract himself from the need to retch, Gerard worked his tongue along the underside of Frank’s cock and kept up the suction until Frank bucked forward, making Gerard take him all the way just as Frank came into his throat, Gerard getting no say in whether he swallowed or not. 

Gerard _never_ swallowed. 

As soon as he’d finished, Frank slumped back against the door, his hand going slack in Gerard’s hair, allowing Gerard to pull off with a gasp. Gerard fell backwards, not sure whether to cry or stifle it—uncertain as to whether or not to feel violated or valued. 

“Sorry,” Frank panted, sounding so out of it and blissful. “I didn’t—Wow, I didn’t think I was gonna…and then it just… Oh, wow.” Frank rubbed at his face and moaned, still coming down from the high as Gerard made himself sit up. 

He still felt like he might throw up, hating the taste that stayed on his tongue. He _did_ feel violated. He _did_ feel used. Frank knew how much he hated giving blow jobs. Why would he make him swallow? Why would he _gag_ him with it?

But Frank looked so grateful… He hadn’t meant anything by it, and their day had been so perfect—Gerard wasn’t going to ruin it with hurt feelings and crying. He would consider it payment for what he’d done with Bert. Gerard had done something Frank hated, and Gerard would let Frank do the same. 

“Was I good?” 

“God yes—oh, god. _God,_ yes,” Frank moaned.

Gerard scooted forward on the floor and tucked Frank back into his jeans, kissing him once between the zipper before zipping it shut and redoing the button. 

“Fuckin’ love you,” Frank moaned, sinking down until he was kneeling on the floor in front of Gerard. He grabbed him in a kiss, caressed his cheek at the same time—adding so much affection that Gerard nearly forgot his feelings of harm. “I love you so fuckin’ much. So fuckin’ much,” he repeated, leaning his forehead against Gerard’s. 

“I love you too,” Gerard whispered. “Nobody but you, Frankie.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Frank said, still breathless as he kissed Gerard once more on the mouth. “You’re perfect—you’re so fucking perfect.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard stared at Frank’s sleeping face. Every now and then he would reach over and caress his cheek or move a lock of his hair. Frank said he was going to get it cut before going back on tour, but Gerard wanted him to leave it the way it was. Frank was so perfect… He may have said Gerard was perfect, but they both knew it wasn’t true. 

Gerard may as well have been a murderer; he was killing Frank.

Gerard planted a soft kiss on Frank’s cheek and smoothed his hair some more. He wanted to show Frank how sorry he was, but there was no way to express his sorrow and revulsion at himself for sleeping with Bert without giving his secret away. Frank already knew—deep down he knew—but as long as he could deny it, Gerard was willing to let it remain that way. He didn’t want Frank to really know how much of a pathetic, despicable person he had become. It was greedy and selfish, but Gerard really just didn’t want Frank to go.

If Frank left him, there was always Bert…but Bert wasn’t someone Gerard could make a life with. He was a fling—a welcomed intrusion into Gerard’s mundane love life and chaotic world. Bert knew how to handle a tour—at the start he’d been able to help Gerard cope with the stress and keep his wits about him. Sure, there’d been a lot of drinking, but Bert had also taught him where to hide at venues if he needed a moment to himself—to breathe or smoke or cry or scream until he saw stars. 

Gerard should never have started sleeping with him… Never. It was like Lindsey kept saying—if he’d wanted a friend, he should never have let Bert get to him in that way. Now, no matter what, they couldn’t stop and remain friends. Bert thought they were dating, even kept texting and calling at odd hours wanting to hear about Gerard’s day and how he was feeling, what he was drinking, if he was seeing someone on the side. If Gerard had been worth half a shit he wouldn’t have answered those calls…

But it felt wrong to ignore Bert. He was hurting too. He needed friends and support just like Gerard did. His heart had been broken when his old girlfriend had died. It crushed him… Maybe more than he was willing to tell people, but it showed in his lyrics and in the sides of himself he showed when Gerard was alone with him.

If only those sides weren’t buried under layers upon layers of hatred and anger. 

No! _No!_ It was _better_ that Bert had all of that hatred in him! Gerard _needed_ that hatred so that he would _stay_ with Frank, be _good_ to Frank! 

Bert was no _saint!_ Bert was hateful and cruel and so, so artistic and wonderful…

Gerard whimpered and kissed Frank softly on the lips, then on the corner of the mouth, then his cheek and jaw and throat until Frank moaned and squirmed in his sleep.

“What?” He mumbled, still so far gone in sleep.

“I love you,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s throat down to his collarbone, climbing over top of him and sitting on his thighs.

“Love you too,” Frank groaned. “What are you doing?”

“I miss you,” Gerard whispered, frantically trying to feel every bit of Frank’s skin at once, kissing him, stroking him, running his fingers through his long, tangled hair. 

“Well, stop—I’m sleepin’,” Frank said, feebly trying to push Gerard away and roll onto his side. Gerard didn’t budge. “Gerard… Come on, I’m tired.”

“I wanna be with you, baby,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s ear before nuzzling him.

“No—please be careful. My tattoo is really sore right now. Can you not sit on me?” Frank’s voice was more harsh than it would usually be, sleep robbing him of his ability to fake kindness. “You’re hurting me,” he growled when Gerard didn’t budge. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispered, climbing off and sitting at Frank’s side instead, stroking Frank’s cheek out of sheer desperation. He wanted Frank to pay attention to him—he wanted Frank to make him stop thinking about Bert.

“If you’re that horny, go jack off. Don’t wake me up and make it my problem.” Frank sighed irritably and rolled carefully onto his side, his back facing Gerard. 

Gerard reached for him, touching his shoulder gently—desperately—still wanting Frank. 

“I just don’t want to be alone right now,” Gerard mumbled, squeezing Frank’s arm.

His boyfriend groaned and rolled back over, groaning and whimpering a little with each movement.

“Come here,” Frank said, opening his arms so Gerard could lie his head down on Frank’s chest. Once Gerard had laid back down, Frank wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” Gerard muttered. 

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” Gerard whispered. “I just…missed you.”

“Oh… Well maybe if you went to sleep you wouldn’t miss me at night,” Frank said, trying to sound humored but sounding more half asleep.

“I wanna marry you,” Gerard whispered.

“Nah,” Frank said, shaking his head slightly. “I’m nobody, Gerard. I can barely even write. I’m not…an artist like…like you.”

They both knew he meant like Bert.

“I owe my life to you,” Gerard said.

“That doesn’t mean you have to spend it with me,” Frank said, his pain breaking through his sleepiness as he came to more and more.

“I want to though. Frank, today was…it was amazing. I haven’t felt this close to you since…” Gerard found himself cradling Frank’s hand, toying with it and examining each finger and stroking each rough callus. “Do you remember…that one night at my parents’ house? Back when we first knew each other?”

“Which night?” Frank asked.

“You came over for dinner and dad tried to kick you out because I kept touching you because I—you know—I liked you and I didn’t know how to act about it. And I yelled at him and we went downstairs and talked?”

“That…happened a lot of times,” Frank said, although Gerard could tell he was still trying to remember the exact day. 

“And you told me you loved me and that you really, really meant it?”

“That… That, too, that happened a lot.”

“I talked to you about my therapist? She told me I didn’t know what love was and it made me mad, and I told you about how nobody accepted that I was in love with you back then and we talked about different kinds of love?”

“I remember conversation like that where you _slapped_ me,” Frank said. “Really _fuckin’_ hard.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “And you left.”

“Yeah, because you hit me and it _fuckin’ hurt._ I wanted to yell at you, Gerard. But I didn’t. I left.”

“I know. I just wanted to say that…that was the closest I ever felt to you even though it went kind of wrong. You saw all of me that day.”

“Then why did you hit me?” Frank asked. 

“Because you made me feel vulnerable and I didn’t want you to see that,” Gerard said softly. “I terrified of you…not like I was of my dad or my master, but still scared. No one ever loved me before you, Frank. You were the only one who could really hurt me…it’s the same way now. Like, I love Mikey, but if he called me tomorrow and said he never wanted to hear from me again, I’d get over it eventually. If you walked out tomorrow I wouldn’t live.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Frank asked, sounding suspicious rather than comforted. Gerard had hoped if he told Frank just how dedicated to him he was, Frank would feel better about them. Now he just saw it as a guilt trip to make him stay with a lying, cheating whore. Frank’s former understanding—his acceptance of all of Gerard’s thoughts and feelings—had long ago been replaced by fear and skepticism.

“I don’t want you to leave me, Frank.”

“Why would I leave after today? We had a good time—why are you saying all of this?” All of Gerard’s hopes to reassure Frank were wasted—he’d just made everything worse.

“I just…I wanted you to know that I love you now just as much as I did back then. I know I couldn’t show it well when we were first together, but I _did_ love you a lot. I would’ve died for you—I _still_ would. I wanted you to know that. I spent a lot of time doubting myself because everyone told me I don’t know what love is or how to love someone.”

“Gerard, it’s late—”

But Gerard refused to stop until Frank understood.

“They all said I just thought I loved you because you bought me or because you took care of me, but they’re wrong. Sometimes I doubted myself, thought—you know—maybe _Dad’s_ right. Maybe I’m confused. And that’s…that’s most of the reason why I wanted us to break up the first time. I thought maybe they are right. Maybe I am too stupid to know what love is, and it wasn’t your fault. But after we split up and I tried to start over, I always felt like something was missing from my life. I was so lonely. You have no idea how lonely I was, Frank. I went with whatever guy would take me because I couldn’t stand to feel so empty all the time. And those men _hurt_ me. I’d let them hurt me and go back for more because I _didn’t want to be alone._ I couldn’t _breathe_ by myself. And when I saw you in that store, everything just stopped. I followed you around the whole time you were shopping, Frank, just trying to think of something to say.”

“You were following me?” Frank asked, as though that was the only thing he was getting out of the story.

“I would’ve followed you _home,_ Frank. I wasn’t going to let you leave. I _couldn’t._ I almost just _grabbed_ you. I thought I was going crazy because I could barely even fight it. All I wanted was to touch you or talk to you and I didn’t even know why.”

“If you’d grabbed me I would’ve probably asked you if you were done trying to forget about me—made you remember all that shit at once in the middle of the supermarket,” Frank mumbled. “It still hurts that you were able to forget about me like that…like I was nothing to you.”

“I never really forgot, Frank,” Gerard said, tilting his head back to look at Frank’s face. “You can’t just forget that kind of thing. Even before you came back, I had the night terrors. I just didn’t want to believe they were real. It was easier to tell myself they were just bad dream—and sometimes they _were_ just bad dreams and I got so mixed I couldn’t tell what was real and what was imagined. I just stopped letting myself think about it. I knew I’d seen you before, I just didn’t remember if it had been good or bad. The way I felt toward you when I saw you that day…it scared me. I thought you might have been my master—everything in my head was so _scrambled._ Most of that second time we were together I was just sorting out what had been dreams and what had been real, and a lot of the time the things I’d thought were my worst nightmares were actually memories I’d been trying to forget.”

“You need to go to sleep, Gerard. You’re going to give yourself nightmares thinking about it.”

“Frank, _please._ ”

“Gerard, Sweetheart, I love you, but you’re babbling and I’m exhausted and my head hurts.”

“I felt like I was dying the whole time we were apart, and I forgot what that felt like. No one’s ever made me feel the way you do, and I don’t think anyone else ever could. Today was just…it was like a dream. I’ve missed you.”

Frank was quiet so long that Gerard thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he said, “It killed me when I saw you in that store. You had your shit together and I’d spent those two years falling apart.”

“It had been a mistake letting you go,” Gerard said, holding Frank tighter and nuzzling his jaw. “I won’t make that mistake again. I _mean_ it when I say I love you with every part of me. I know I was bad to you _a lot,_ and not just on the tour. I’ve never treated you right, Frank, but you stay with me. I want to make it up to you.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Frank whispered, squeezing Gerard for a moment and then sighing. “Please don’t see Bert anymore. I know he’s like you. I know you’re both artistic and that you admire him, but he’s just using you. He _hurts_ you and I know you don’t want it.”

“I don’t want us to be a secret anymore,” Gerard whispered.

“I don’t either.”

“When we do the video, I’m gonna kiss you in it and everyone will see.”

Frank said something dismissive and rolled over again, making Gerard lie beside him instead of on his chest. He still had an arm wrapped around Gerard’s shoulder, and made Gerard rest with his head tucked under Frank’s chin.

Gerard still didn’t know if Frank understood just how important to him he was, and he would make a point to try to convince him more in the morning. Maybe he’d wake up early and make Frank breakfast or bring him coffee…or maybe he’d write him another song, or draw him another picture. 

Gerard was running out of ideas to show his love, and yet the thoughts of ways to ruin it came quickly. He saw the screen of his cell phone light up on his dresser—another text or maybe a call from Bert. Gerard closed his eyes against the light and snuggled closer. The soft, pleased sigh Frank released proved he’d seen the flash of light too and was comforted by the fact that Gerard hadn’t gotten out of bed to answer it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerard probably babbled a bit too much, but I find that when I person is trying to convince someone of something--or even convince himself--that person will say anything and everything that comes to mind in order to support his case. Maybe Gerard has learned his lesson, but we won't know for sure until Bert is back in the picture when the tour starts up again--in chapter 12!


	12. Today is on My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about Bert reappearing this chapter. I have decided to explore Frank and Gerard alone ;) together a little more than I want to explore Gerard and Bert fighting and Frank being suspicious. So this chapter is Bert Free! (Yay! Yay?) And full of Frerardy goodness!
> 
> Also! Exciting news! I have joined Twitter! So if you want daily (daily?) updates about what I'm working on/not working on/dramatic commentary, please honor me with a follow! I promise you won't be disappointed if you do! So look me up on Twitter @Jatty_Sinful.

_Chapter 12_

It was weird, Gerard felt, to be in front of all those cameras. They’d done interviews before and had been filmed before and had performed in front of hundreds of fans, but those cameras were so cold…so impersonal. Acting was weird. Gerard didn’t know how to act.

Well, outside of acting like his life was peachy and that Frank was his best friend, not his boyfriend. That was an art he’d been made to master. This was something entirely different.

They were making a video for their I’m Not Okay (I Promise) song even though Gerard insisted there were better ones, but Brian and the label had hooked them up with a renowned director to work on the video. He had a vision of them as school boys—because, hello, the song was all about teenage angst and what spoke more to that than boys in prep school coats? It felt strange dressing that way for the age that they were, but people kept commenting on how Gerard and Frank appeared so ageless. 

So they’d been fitted and dressed and Frank taught them all how to tie ties. He looked good in his blazer and Gerard had pressed far too many kisses to his cheek for them to have gone unnoticed by the crew members.

“You’ve gotta stop,” Frank said, giggling so shrilly as Gerard kissed him again and again between shots. Frank had just filmed a scene where he pretended to piss in a fish tank while Gerard had been pretending to get punched in the face after being glad (?) about failing a test. Why an F would ever make him happy, Gerard knew not, but he was willing to put it behind him as he pulled Frank aside. “Stop—Shh, they’re gonna see us!”

Frank just kept laughing despite his protests as Gerard kissed his neck and jaw. 

“Want you,” Gerard moaned, kissing Frank on the mouth and then pulling at his tie so he could get to more of Frank’s throat. 

“Not here!” Frank giggled but pushed Gerard back forcefully. “No, Gerard. We can’t here. Later—we’ve got a hotel. They’re gonna call us back any minute. No, Gerard! Stop!” And yet he was still laughing as Gerard alternately kissed him and pulled him toward an empty hallway. They were filming in an actual school, so there were lots of empty rooms—except all of the doors Gerard tried were locked.

Gerard growled and pulled Frank into one of the classroom’s inset doorways. As long as they stayed chest to chest, they were invisible to the people walking back, but there wasn’t enough room in that narrow space to do more than kiss and grab.

“Gerard—really! We can’t,” Frank said, kissing Gerard anyway as if he were protesting just for show. 

“I want you,” Gerard repeated, kissing Frank more and more. When Frank pushed on his chest, Gerard grabbed Frank’s hand and lowered it to the waistband of his jeans where Frank’s protests stopped. All at once he slipped his hands inside and squeezed. “Want you, Frankie,” Gerard mewled, kissing the corner of Frank’s mouth in between moans of pleasure. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gerard moaned. “Please?”

“We _can’t,_ ” Frank said, giggling as he wrapped his hand around Gerard’s aching cock and gave it a few encouraging strokes. 

“Please?” Gerard moaned, burying his face in Frank’s shoulder. 

“How about after filming—”

“No!” Gerard slammed his palm against the door behind Frank’s back and thrust hard into Frank’s fist. “Can’t—I _need_ you. Come on—Come on, please? No one’s over here.”

“Okay,” Frank said, smiling a little and kissing Gerard on the cheek. “Want me to blow you, baby?” 

“Yes—oh please, god, yes!” 

“Shh,” Frank said, laughing and kissing Gerard one last time on the mouth before dropping to his knees. He quickly undid Gerard’s belt and unzipped his uniform pants, pulling them down just enough to get at his prize. “Don’t mess up my hair, okay? We can’t have them finding ou—” Frank’s eyes went wide and he was silenced as Gerard, in one swift move, grabbed Frank by the back of his head and pulled him forward, burying his length in Frank’s mouth. 

“Sorry, Frankie—Sorry, Frankie, but I _need_ you. Oh, god. I need you—you feel so good. I’m sorry, baby, but you feel so fuckin’ good.” Gerard moaned and held Frank in place, not letting him pull back even though Frank started to resist. When Frank whimpered, Gerard finally let go. “Sorry, baby.”

“I’m fine,” Frank said, gagging and then trying to catch his breath. “It’s good—don’t do that again, but it’s all good. I got you. It’s fine.” Frank offered a lopsided smile and then, after swallowing hard one final time, set back to work, sucking Gerard’s length back into his mouth. Gerard gripped Frank’s hair despite Frank’s unhappy groan and pulled him forward again. 

He knew right away he wasn’t going to last long. He’d already been ready to cum in his pants before Frank even touched him. So having Frank sucking him so hard and working his tongue along the underside of his cock, Gerard was sure he wouldn’t make it three minutes. Gerard pulled him closer, but a sharp slap to his thigh from Frank made him let up. He still kept his hand on Frank’s head—using it as his anchor to the earth—but let his boyfriend pull back enough to breathe, though not enough to pull completely off. The added pleasure that came from having Frank’s tongue swirl around his tip, lapping at precum and then sliding back along the base had Gerard close to the edge in seconds. 

“So good, Frankie. Love you, Frankie—Love you so much,” Gerard babbled, tightening his hold on Frank’s hair to pull him closer until Frank was choking around him again. 

Frank moaned and willing took Gerard deeper, sucking hard until Gerard’s body tensed and he came into his mouth. Frank continued to swallow around him and licked him clean before finally letting Gerard’s length drop from his mouth and tucking him back into his pants.

“Feel better?” Frank asked, smirking and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Uh huh,” Gerard moaned, nodding his head and slumping back against the door. 

“You happy now?”

“Uh huh,” Gerard repeated. Frank laughed at him and got back up.

“Never thought I’d get to say I sucked off my boyfriend in school again,” Frank said, chuckling a little and kissing Gerard on the cheek.

“You did….before?” Gerard asked, still breathing heavily. 

“Eh, a couple times back in high school,” Frank said, grabbing Gerard’s hand and holding it as if trying to get closer than they already were, chest to chest in their tiny alcove. “None as hot as you though, sweetheart.”

“I wish I’d been there,” Gerard whispered. “I would’ve sucked you in between classes, Frankie.”

“Yeah?” Frank asked, laughing because Gerard’s woozy voice revealed that he was still out of it. Possibly a little more than just buzzed on beer, but not exactly drunk. 

“Who’d you do in high school?”

“Eh… Some senior. He didn’t want to come out to his parents and we broke it off before he graduated. He was my first guy.”

“My first guy was Master,” Gerard whispered, letting his eyes slip closed. 

“I know,” Frank said, his lips twitching with a frown.

“But…If you think about it, my first time was with you. You were the only guy who ever gave me a say,” Gerard said, falling forward onto Frank and nuzzling his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Frank said, laughing a little and rubbing Gerard’s back. 

“So sexy,” Gerard murmured.

“Okay, come on—you’re gonna get me hard and we don’t have time for that.”

“I’ll blow you,” Gerard whispered into Frank’s ear.

“At the hotel tonight. Okay?”

“Now,” Gerard pressed, kissing Frank’s neck.

“No — Because then you’ll get going again and we’ll never stop,” Frank said, laughing and pulling Gerard out of doorway. 

“Please?”

“No!” Frank giggled and pulled Gerard down the hallway back towards the film crew. 

“Want you, sugar,” Gerard said, again and again as Frank led him back to the people. He tried to kiss Frank on the mouth in front of the whole crew, but Frank took a chance to drop to the floor and pretend to retie his shoe, making Gerard look foolish as he nearly stumbled over. 

“We’ve got one more shot then we’re done for the day,” one of the techs said.

“Sounds good,” Frank drawled, looking up at Gerard who was pouting. “One more shot,” Frank said as he stood back up and kissed Gerard’s cheek once everyone’s backs were turned. “Then we can go to the hotel.”

“I don’t want to go to the hotel,” Gerard said, even going so far as to cross his arms like a child.

“Oh? Where do you wanna go?”

“Home.”

“Home? Why?”

“I forgot…”

“You forgot?” Frank asked, forcing out a laugh.

“I forgot to pack the lube…”

Gerard looked so embarrassed and unhappy. 

“So I’ll go buy us some more,” Frank said, going to kiss him but stopping short when the crew came to collect them for the next scene. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank looked from Gerard to the door of the sex shop.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, shrugging and trying to look unfazed even though he looked close to tears. 

“We could just go to a pharmacy… Or Wal-Mart.”

“But this place is…right here.”

Their hotel was in the center of the city, and there were a lot of shops nearby to cater to the needs of those guests who stayed at the large hotel. Cafés, restaurants, tourist shops…and of course a sex store.

“Gerard, you’re gonna give yourself a panic attack if we go in there.”

“Not if I’m with you,” Gerard said. “You’ll keep me safe.”

“There’s nothing in there you want,” Frank said. “Let’s just go down the road. There’s gotta be a convenience store somewhere.”

“No. I wanna… I wanna go in.” Gerard grabbed the handle of the sex shop’s door and pulled it open, going in without hesitating any more. He flashed his ID to the woman at the counter and then scurried away from the door with his head down.

“Let me know if you need any help finding anything,” the woman said, looking back down at her magazine and paying them no mind.

Frank scanned the shop once—BDSM gear on one wall, sections of lingerie on the next, then sex toys and dildos on every other wall with aisles upon aisles of magazines and DVDs in between. This was no place for Gerard. No place at all.

“Gerard, stay with me,” Frank said, feeling like a parent keeping track of his child in a busy shopping mall, only instead of fearing a stranger would come steal him, Frank was afraid bad memories would rob him of his lover again.

“We should…buy toys,” Gerard said softly.

“No. You don’t like toys. Toys scare you. I’m not gonna scare you like that—Gerard, let’s just go. You’ve got nothing to prove to me. Let’s just go.”

“Frank, please. I’m…I’m trying to do this. Let me do this,” Gerard said, looking to Frank with determination. “I don’t want to be scared.”

“Okay…but, let’s just get the stuff now so if… So when you want to leave we can just get out. Okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard said, turning to look around the shop. He shuddered visibly when his eyes landed on the whips and floggers hanging on display on the side wall and then followed Frank with his head down to the lubricant and lotions area. 

“Hey, look at this one,” Frank said, grabbing a flashy bottle in hopes it would distract Gerard enough to keep him grounded. If Gerard wanted to prove something to himself by coming in this store, then Frank would be supportive. It was his job to support Gerard, not telling him that his risks were stupid and bound to backfire. 

“It’s twenty bucks. Put it down,” Gerard said, looking at the price tag before anything else. 

“Okay… What about…this one? This one’s flavored.” Frank handed it to him with a smile.

“Why would it be….oh. Do you…do you want that? Would that make…that better?” Gerard asked, turning the little bottle over in his hands. 

“Maybe. What do you think?”

“I think artificial cherry tastes like medicine,” Gerard mumbled, setting the bottle back down. 

“This one is vanilla,” Frank said, grabbing a bottle next to the one Gerard had replaced. 

“If you want it. You’re the one who…does that.”

“You do it too,” Frank said, laughing even though he was starting to get agitated. 

“Where’s the normal stuff?”

Frank looked over the bottle and then grabbed the house brand water-based lubricant off the shelf. Gerard looked at it and then glanced at the shelf behind them, a rack of magazines showing women with large breasts with dicks held between them. He cringed and then quickly turned back around.

“You want any other kinds?” Frank asked.

“The other kind hurt,” Gerard whispered. 

“Yeah, but I kind of—” 

“If you want it, buy it. I don’t care. Just don’t use it on me.”

Frank almost asked Gerard why he was so against using a lubricant that made him uncomfortable when all he sought from Bert was abuse and pain, but bit it back. Gerard was scared—he was getting angry because he was scared. It was his own fault for wanting to go into a store he knew would frighten him, but he was still just frightened and it was Frank’s job to help him through it.

“We’ll just get these,” Frank said, holding the vanilla flavored lubricant and the larger bottle of the house brand regular. “Anything else you wanna…”

Gerard had already moved on to the boxes of condoms and had three in hand. They’d only ever used _normal_ ones when they were together. Gerard was looking at ones with ridges and dots and other _weird_ things. Things Frank bet he’d learned about from Bert.

“Why do they have all these shapes?” Gerard asked, keeping his voice a low whisper in fear that the woman behind the counter would come answer him instead of Frank. “Does it make a difference?”

“They’re more for women. I don’t think they make much of a difference really. Why?”

“They just sound weird… Why are these so _expensive?_ Sex should be free…”

Frank took the liberty of taking the condom boxes out of Gerard’s hands and hanging them back on their little metal pegs. He grabbed a box of their regular brand, but slowly set it back down while Gerard was distracted by the little plastic jugs of single, wrapped flavored and colored condoms. 

“These glow in the dark, Frank,” Gerard mumbled.

“You could get two and we could have a light saber duel in the hotel tonight,” Frank said, laughing a little at his own joke and grabbing a box of extra thin condoms. He bet they’d break a lot easier, but they were a dollar cheaper… They might feel better too. 

And it didn’t really matter that much if the condom broke. If Gerard had cheated and caught a disease from Bert, Frank would already have it by now—especially after all the times he’d sucked him off while on their break from touring as well as in the hallway during their video shoot. 

Frank made a mental note to get himself tested the next time he had a chance. Maybe he could find a Planned Parenthood clinic or something that did walk in STD screenings. 

“Do you wanna…look at some of the _stuff?_ ” Gerard asked, making a small gesture toward the dildos on the walls around them.

“I… I don’t know. Let’s just not go over that way,” Frank said, gesturing vaguely toward the corner with the bdsm gear and whips. Gerard’s eyes lingered on that wall for a moment and then he shuddered, turning away.

“I would let you…use things on me, if you wanted, I mean,” Gerard said, slowly walking toward the wall and looking in mortified confusion at the display of high tech vibrators made exclusively to fit the female anatomy.

“These aren’t for us,” Frank said, grabbing Gerard’s hand and pulling him away to a space further down the wall where the toys became more basic without all the butterfly shaped clitoral stimulators and other things. “You…want to try anything different with us?” Frank asked, staring awkwardly at the packages of the different toys. There were clear dildos and pink ones, all shaped to be anatomically correct to the extent of having little, bulging veins on the sides of the shaft. Then there were synthetic fists modeled after the hands of porn stars and even completely lifelike (although neon colored) gel penises with wrinkles and veins and a convincing hole at the tip where the urethra should be and it was all too much for Frank—it felt so _impersonal._ Why would Gerard want these when he had Frank? Yeah, these were bigger, but still… What was the point of having him around if Gerard could get his pleasure from these…things?

“I don’t want any of these,” Gerard said, turning his head away to look at the floor instead. “These hurt me.”

“What kind of…thing would you want? If you don’t want these and you want _something…_ ”

“I don’t know,” Gerard whispered, too embarrassed to fess up. “I can’t do this—can we leave? Please? I want to go back to the hotel.”

“Okay,” Frank said, nodding quickly. “That’s fine. I’ll buy these. Why don’t you wait outside?”

“No. I don’t want to be alone.” He was on the edge of a flashback and Frank knew all too well how important it was that Gerard stayed close and got back to their room as fast as possible. 

( ) ( ) ( )

No sooner had Frank closed the door to their hotel room door than Gerard’s arms were around his waist. He was nuzzling Frank’s shoulder, trying to focus on the present and not the nightmares in his past.

“It’ll be okay,” Frank said quietly. “You know I’m here. I’m always here.” He reached up to place a hand on Gerard’s head and stroked his hair, offering comfort in any way he could.

“I have a secret,” Gerard said, whispering into Frank’s ear.

“That never ends well,” Frank said, feeling like he too might start to cry, because it would be _just like Gerard_ to put him in a position where he couldn’t get mad to tell him about something he’d done wrong.

“It’s a big secret,” Gerard added, kissing Frank’s neck softly and holding Frank tighter when Frank tried to pull free.

“Gerard, stop—”

“Nobody knows about it but me,” Gerard said, nuzzling the back of Frank’s neck and kissing him there.

“What?” Frank asked, wincing when one of Gerard’s hands moved from holding him tight to caressing his hips.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Do you have one boyfriend or two—”

“My boyfriend’s in my band. He plays guitar,” Gerard said, kissing Frank’s neck again and moving one hand from Frank’s hip to his groin, squeezing just enough to make Frank gasp. 

“Oh yeah?” Frank asked, finding himself smiling even though he was still scared. “Tell me all about him.”

“He’s really short.”

_“Really?”_ Frank snapped, pouting more than he was angry.

“But he’s still really sexy.” Gerard unfastened Frank’s belt and started working the button slowly. “And gives really good blowjobs.”

“Is that right?” Frank asked, laughing softly and turning his head to kiss Gerard on the mouth. Almost immediately, Gerard slid his tongue into Frank’s mouth. Frank couldn’t help but moan when Gerard finally got his hand wrapped around his length. 

“My boyfriend’s in my band,” Gerard moaned, as if that thought alone was enough to get him off. 

“So’s mine,” Frank said, squirming in Gerard’s arms in an attempt to turn to face his lover and kiss him face-to-face.

“Wanna blow him,” Gerard breathed, holding Frank tighter and stroking his length a little faster.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna blow him while he plays guitar,” Gerard said between open-mouthed kisses. “Want him to pull my hair—want him to fuck me.”

“Fuck, he wants that too,” Frank moaned, thrusting his hips up into Gerard’s hand.

Even if Frank didn’t have his guitar in the hotel room, they still ended up in the bed with Gerard’s head between Frank’s legs giving the most enthusiastic blowjob of his life until Frank was almost at the edge. As soon as Frank started choking on his moans of pleasure, Gerard came up for air and crawled over top Frank’s body, leaning down to kiss him on the mouth while rutting himself against Frank’s thigh. 

“Wanna be with you,” Gerard whispered. 

“You’ve got me, baby,” Frank moaned, his body twitching with need. 

“Want you in me, now,” Gerard said, sucking Frank’s neck before grabbing onto his shoulders and rolling them so Frank was on top.

“Oh, you’ll have it, baby,” Frank said, grabbing the bottle of lubricant up from the bedspread. Gerard was already on all fours with his thighs up and read for Frank to prep him. He kept his face buried in the pillows and moaned as Frank worked his fingers in and out. 

Frank made Gerard roll onto his back again before lining himself up and pressing inside. Almost instantly, Gerard had his nails digging in to Frank’s back—harder than normal, too, as if he were afraid Frank would somehow slip away. They started kissing again, Gerard working so hard to keep his tongue wrapped around Frank’s. Frank tangled his hands in Gerard’s hair fast, making sure to pull but not yank, giving Gerard the same feeling he was giving Frank—the feeling of being trapped, _lovingly_ trapped because his partner was so damned desperate to keep him close. 

Frank had known from the beginning that he wouldn’t last long—not after having Gerard’s tongue working along his length—but he still felt guilty when his thrusts became harsh and sporadic, making Gerard let out tiny little whimpers between his moans of pleasure. 

Gerard sounded like he might cry when Frank pulled out, but was silenced as Frank crawled down his body.

“I hear I give good blowjobs,” Frank panted, kissing the tip of Gerard’s cock while stroking it with his hand.

“Yeah,” Gerard moaned. “Really good.”

“You want one, baby?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard said, nodding his head quickly. Frank smirked and then sucked Gerard’s length into his mouth, swallowing around him to get Gerard to moan even louder. Frank moved Gerard’s legs father apart so he could slip his fingers back inside, finding Gerard’s prostate after a few brief thrust. Seconds later, Gerard was a twitching mess and Frank swallowed down the hot fluid which filled his mouth. 

“Good, baby?” Frank asked, crawling up to join Gerard at the head of the bed.

“Better than good,” Gerard moaned, still shaking as he curled close to Frank. “You’re gonna stay with me, right?”

“Where would I go?” Frank asked, laughing and kissing Gerard under his chin. “Hm? Where would I go?”

“Away,” Gerard whispered, trembling until Frank threw the blankets over him. “With somebody else.”

“Gerard. I am _not_ leaving you for someone else,” Frank said, being firm but not harsh. If Gerard was insecure, it was Frank’s job to comfort not criticize. “You’re my boyfriend, we’re gonna get married someday. Why would I go somewhere else?”

“You mean that?” Gerard asked, sounding so surprised and startled.

“That I would marry you if I could? Yeah.”

“I want that too,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s chin and cuddling closer. “Frank, I really want to be with you.”

“You _are_ with me,” Frank said, smiling and nuzzling Gerard’s hair. “You need a shower, though. And then we do have to go to sleep. We’ve still gotta be up for filming in the morning.”

“No shower,” Gerard muttered, wrapping his arms around Frank in an attempt to keep him trapped.

“Yes, shower. I’ll go with you. If you can get it up again, I’ll give you a quickie—come on.”

“No,” Gerard moaned. “I don’t want to.”

“Sweetheart, I love you, you’re so hot and so sexy, but you smell and you need a shower.”

“Fine,” Gerard whined, letting Frank haul him up and take him to the shower. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Their third day of filming left them in street clothes rather than the school uniforms (much to Gerard’s disappointment) so they could perform for the garage band scenes. Frank had thought the day would be easy, but there was so much frustrating stopping and starting that Frank swore he never, ever, ever wanted to hear _I’m Not Okay_ ever, ever again.

It became so monotonous Frank was desperate to do anything to keep himself awake. During their breaks between shots, he would sit beside Gerard and even lean against him whether people were watching or not. It was at least exhilarating to see the mixed expressions of the workers’ faces. Perhaps he became too content, or too irritable. 

After the director of their video criticized Gerard one time too many on his delivery of certain “impactful” lines of their song, Gerard had sunken in on himself more than a small amount. The tech workers and crew may not have noticed the difference, but Frank could tell that it wasn’t Gerard getting into his lyrics when his eyes were starting to look bleary—Gerard was frustrated and upset and embarrassed. 

Maybe Frank was feeling a little too much of the same emotions, but he at least (or so he felt) was strong enough to shoulder it. He would never say Gerard was _weak,_ but he could only take so much before he broke down, and this whole thing was pushing him to his breaking point which _couldn’t_ happen when they were about to set out on their tour again. 

So when they were made to shoot the scene _again_ where, for the ten millionth time, Frank got to say “trust me” after Gerard’s lyrics attempt to almost psychotically insist that he is okay, Frank decided to switch things up a little. 

Rather than just grabbing the mic and saying trust me, trust me, trust me like he’d been made to do so many fucking times, Frank added his own twist—a kiss to Gerard’s cheek. A kiss he kept delivering over and over every time they were made to shoot the scene again. The first time, Gerard had been so surprised he’d almost fell over sideways from the force of the unexpected touch. Then, by the end, after Gerard was finished being shy, the director finally got a shot he liked and they were finished—finally fucking finished with the awful garage band scene after melting out of their skin in that stuff, closed off space.

After filming, Frank took Gerard with him to walk to a gas station down the street to buy soda after the water they’d been given lost its appeal. All Frank wanted the whole time they were walking was to hold Gerard’s hand, or kiss his cheek, or push the little, greasy strands of hair out of his face. 

By the time their day was over and they were back in the hotel, Frank could take no more. Once the door was closed, he wrapped his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and leaned up to kiss him, gentle at first and then growing more and more desperate when Gerard’s hands gripped at his hips and pulled him close. 

“You did so good today,” Frank moaned in between kisses. 

“You kissed me,” Gerard said.

“I’m kissing you right now,” Frank said, moving to plant open-mouthed kisses on Gerard’s chin and neck.

“I was supposed to kiss you, remember? I told you I wanted to — oh, god — I told you I wanted to kiss _you_ in front of everybody,” Gerard said, gasping sharply when Frank started sucking at his pulse.

“Yeah, but you looked so fuckin’ hot.”

“It _was_ hot,” Gerard whimpered, pressing himself against Frank’s hip. 

“Want you so bad,” Frank said, grabbing Gerard’s head to keep it still so he could lock their lips again. 

Gerard tried to answer, but as soon as his lips were parted, Frank slid his tongue into his mouth, moving one of his hands to grip Gerard’s hair. Gerard started rutting against Frank’s hip, his nails digging into Frank’s back as he pulled him tighter and tighter against his chest.

“Wanna—Wanna try something,” Gerard moaned.

“Oh yeah? Tell me.” Frank started nipping at Gerard’s throat, letting him speak but taking pleasure in interrupting him by drawing out little moans.

“Wanna—oh, fuck, Frankie. I wanna…wanna get those school uniforms and…and I want you to be my—fuck, _ah fuck_ —be my upperclassman boyfriend. Want you to talk me into things.”

“Talk you into things?” Frank asked, his tone seductive rather than confused as he slid a hand down the front of Gerard’s tight jeans. “Like joining the Peace Corps?”

“No!” Gerard cried, thrusting against Frank’s hand and dropping his head onto his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Talk me into — _fuck!_ Fuck, fuck. God, Frankie.”

Gerard’s body was already shaking and Frank couldn’t help but feel a sick, giddy pleasure bubble up inside of him as teasingly stroked Gerard’s length. 

“Oh, I see. Maybe the Big Bad Senior could teach his modest little Freshman a thing or two about…physical education?” It was cheesy, and corny, but apparently that was all it took. Gerard let out one of the shrillest cries Frank had ever heard from him when he wasn’t in pain, and then sank to his knees still shaking and panting while throwing out every obscenity he had in his vocabulary.

“Fuck, Frankie — _fuck, Frankie!_ God damnit. _Shit…_ ” Gerard had his hands over his head as if shielding himself, and Frank just watched him, shaking his head while wiping the semen on his hand off onto the leg of his jeans.

“You know, I think you lie about your age,” Frank said, still smiling—still so fucking proud that _he_ was the one who brought Gerard to his knees that fast with just a few gentle touches and a little bit of dirty talk. 

“I don’t wanna hear about it,” Gerard moaned, rocking slowly back and forth as his body continued to tremble through the lingering throes of pleasure.

“Because you could pass for eighteen…and I’m _pretty sure_ only sexy schoolboys _finish_ before the show even begins.”

“Just stop,” Gerard said, sounding like he was about to cry though more out of embarrassment than any real trauma. 

“I’m just teasing you, Sweetheart,” Frank said, sinking down onto the floor in front of Gerard and kissing him on the cheek. 

“Well don’t. I’m already embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Frank said, smiling as he pulled Gerard’s arms away from his head in order to hold his hands. “I thought it was kind of hot. You’ve got such a sexy imagination.”

“And no self-control,” Gerard groaned. “Back with Master, if I’d—”

“Shh,” Frank said, quickly reaching up to press his fingers to Gerard’s lips. “Don’t… Just don’t put yourself there. You’re not with him, you’re with me. He may have treated you like shit, but I won’t. And, honestly, the fact that you just got off at the thought of me is pretty awesome.”

“I don’t _feel_ awesome,” Gerard said, pouting now as Frank held his hand a little tighter and started rubbing his shoulder.

“Come on—we both know you’ll get it up again in an hour. Then, maybe, I’ll give you something special, huh?”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” Frank said, grinning and kissing Gerard’s cheek again.

“No, I… I want to wait til tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“So we can…have the uniforms and…it’ll be…” Gerard just trailed off and fell forward, slumping against Frank’s chest. 

“I don’t know how we’ll get the uniforms back here…do you wanna sneak off and screw in the bathroom? That could be hot.”

“No, I want to do it here. I want…”

“Hm?” 

Gerard pulled away and Frank did his best to smile and look supportive. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he tried to be forceful. He had to patiently, patiently pry and offer all the polite understanding in the world if he was ever to get Gerard to admit to what he wanted.

Frank wanted to, but couldn’t let himself dwell on the thought of how Gerard had managed to tell Bert he wanted to be whipped. Gerard didn’t even know how to ask Frank for a blowjob when he wanted one. 

“It’s stupid; you’ll laugh at me.”

“I’m not gonna laugh,” Frank said, shaking his head and smiling. “Gerard, you could ask me to wear that dog mascot costume to bed and I’d do it. What do you wanna try?”

“I don’t want made fun of,” Gerard said, already self-conscious about having lost the control over his body.

“I will _not_ make fun of you. We’re partners—you’re my boyfriend—I don’t judge you.”

“You _do_ though,” Gerard said, pulling away but Frank just tightened his grip. Frank didn’t want to talk about Bert and how much he disliked what Gerard let Bert do to him.

“Sweetheart, if you want something, just tell _me,_ okay? I want to be in this relationship with _you._ If you want something, I want to be the one to give it to you. Please just tell me,” Frank said, his smile a little sadder as he reached up to stroke Gerard’s cheek. “I’ll do whatever you want. Anything you want. Just how you want it. Just tell me.”

“I…It’s just I never really got to go to high school or…fuck. You know I never had a boyfriend before you. I was shy and I was scared of people and then…then it was over. I was taken, I was tortured, and it was stolen from me.” Gerard bit his lip, trying to fight tears that fell regardless. Frank felt his heart sink and he scooted a little closer to Gerard on the floor. Any arousal he’d had was gone now. After being with Gerard so long, however, he was used to switching gears from explicit thoughts to ones of comfort and concern. “I think about it a lot that…that you’re so good to me and I know you’d never _hurt_ me and I always wish that…I always wish you were my first, you know?—Like you were my first boyfriend my first _everything._ And as much I think it’s hot when you wear that uniform—and you _do_ look hot, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, Frankie—I really just want to pretend that it’s real, you know? Like we _are_ just in high school and I _haven’t_ been used up.”

“You’re not used up,” Frank said, squeezing Gerard’s arm. “And I completely understand. Okay? I screwed around a lot in school and you missed out on that. Your…” Frank got caught up on deciding whether or not to say innocence or virginity or virtue, not sure which would hurt Gerard the worst and which would be least damaging. “Your innocence was stolen from you. They _hurt_ you and that’s…that’s not okay. If you want to recreate high school and I’m your sort-of-fucking-sexy high school fling then that’s awesome. I wanna do that for you.”

“I don’t want you to be a fling… Well, I do—but…” Gerard was trying so hard to keep himself from crumbling into hysterics, distracting himself with his other fantasies to keep himself calm. 

“We can do sexy schoolboy at home with a suit jacket and a tie,” Frank suggest.

“Yeah… This way—these uniforms look real, you know? I just want it to be real so badly.”

“I can do that for you,” Frank said, kissing Gerard gently on the mouth and then the cheek and jaw until Gerard finally smiled. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“I just don’t want made fun of if I act like I’m not…”

“Gerard, I won’t laugh. I’m not going to make fun of you. You’re my boyfriend, you’re my partner—I love you. I may look like a sexy schoolboy, but I’m not an asshole jock, alright?” Unwilling to let it get too deep, knowing he’d spend the rest of the night holding Gerard in bed as he cried himself to sleep, Frank pulled Gerard into a tight hug and kissed him hard on the temple. “I may look tough, but underneath I’m all warm and fuzzy and shy,” Frank said, describing the perfect archetype of the mysterious and dark dream boy. 

“I really wish you were the only person I’ve been with, Frank. I mean that,” Gerard muttered, moving to crawl into Frank’s arms as he laid himself down on the floor. 

“Yeah?” 

“So many people were just mean to me—even after Master. After you and I broke up… All those men _hurt_ me. Some were nice, but none of the nice ones stuck around, you know? I felt like something was wrong with me. You don’t make me feel that way. I don’t ever feel bad when I’m with you—like, I get…scared sometimes, but I know you don’t think I’m a fuck up.”

“You’re not a fuck up,” Frank said, holding Gerard tight and nuzzling the top of his head. “And you don’t have anything to be afraid of. Tomorrow we’re gonna run off in the uniforms, we’re gonna come back here, and I’m gonna…make you feel good and safe and stuff.”

Gerard laughed a little and snuggled closer.

“Do you want to lie in bed?” Gerard asked softly.

“Yeah,” Frank said, squeezing Gerard one last time before helping him up off the floor. “You wanna…change your pants?”

“Yeah,” Gerard groaned, walking awkwardly to the foot of the bed and grabbing the sweatpants he’d been wearing as pajamas the night before. He wandered into the bathroom to change which Frank thought was odd, and it took Gerard a moment to return and crawl under the sheets with Frank. “I feel stupid.”

“Why do you feel stupid?” Frank asked, unable to keep his exasperation out of his voice.

“’Cause I got off and you didn’t… Then I sat on the floor and cried because I’m—”

“You’ve got a lot on your mind. I understand that. You know I do.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like being a crybaby. Even in this stupid video… I’m just pathetic.”

“You’re _not_ pathetic.”

“I just fuckin’ came in my pants because I was thinking about getting a blow job…I’m pathetic.”

“Oh—Gerard wants a blowjob huh?” Frank asked, kissing Gerard under the chin.

“Well not right now…”

“You sure?” Frank asked, trying so hard to distract him before he became depressed and drove himself into nightmares.

“Frank?”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s not that. I just…I really don’t want you to make fun of me if we…have that scene. I don’t want laughed at. I couldn’t take it if you laughed at me.”

“I’m not going to laugh at you. It’s not funny. I understand what it means to you. Your virginity was stolen, you want a chance to—”

“I know they say you get, like, a secondary virginity or whatever, but it doesn’t feel that way. You were the first guy I said yes to, but even then you knew I wasn’t…special or untouched or…or whatever.”

“I won’t laugh at you,” Frank said, not sure what else he could say. “But I have to tell you, if you keep loading it up like this, I might not be able to actually…perform when the moment comes. I’ll get psyched out.”

“I just keep thinking you’ll laugh at me,” Gerard said as if not hearing anything Frank said to him at all. “If I act like I don’t know how to fuck, you’re gonna laugh at me because it’s _not true._ I’m the furthest thing from a virgin. I fucked men for money before. I’m a slut not a…not a virgin. I’m not good enough to be…”

“Gerard, none of that would’ve even _happened_ if that sick fucker hadn’t _taken_ you. You didn’t get a say! Now I’m not going to _laugh_ at you! _Please._ I _understand_ that you just—”

“I just—”

“Don’t interrupt me! I understand that you want a taste of what they stole from you, and I’m going to give you that. I’m going to be _nice_ to you. I’m going to be _good_ to you and make sure you’re okay the whole time and give you so much affection you’re gonna choke on it. I’ll give you what you should’ve had—I’ll give you what they took from you. Okay? I won’t laugh… I won’t make fun of you.”

“Okay,” Gerard whispered, completely frozen in Frank’s arms. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you weren’t _listening_ to me. I want you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Gerard hesitated before carefully whispering, “I don’t want you to laugh at me. It’ll _kill_ me if you laugh at me when I try to…to be innocent when I’m not.”

“I won’t laugh,” Frank said helplessly. “I mean, not unless you say something cute…or tell a joke or something.”

“And can I…tomorrow, when we…can you pet my hair? That’s how I’ve always seen it whenever I’ve…thought about what you would’ve been like back then—what were you like back then?” Gerard asked, not giving Frank time to respond to his request before asking another question.

“In high school? Oh, jeez. I was…stupid, hyper—a lot like I am on stage only in a classroom and instead of a having a guitar to distract me, I just ran my mouth and got in trouble a lot.”

“What about with…boys? Or girls. You had girls before, right?”

“Eh, a couple. The last girl told me I sucked in bed and I cried myself to sleep for two weeks before I started seeing this other guy who finally taught me how to do it right.”

“You don’t suck in bed,” Gerard whispered.

“Neither do you.”

“Sometimes I do…”

“Nah, not really. You don’t like giving blowjobs so you only really _suck_ on occasion,” Frank said, giggling a little to show he was telling a joke. 

“Frank…”

“I’m just teasing you,” Frank said, rustling Gerard’s hair and holding him tighter. “Anyway, you’re not bad in bed. I think you’re pretty fuckin’ awesome—and sexy, and warm, and soft.” Frank finally got Gerard to laugh with him as he planted kiss after kiss on Gerard’s cheek and down his neck.

“Do you want me to…do that now? Since I kind of…ruined the moment earlier?”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I think I can wait until tomorrow when I get to have you in uniform,” Frank added, kissing Gerard on the mouth. 

Gerard hummed in excitement and cuddled closer, making as if to sleep even though it was only early evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to look me (Vianne @Jatty_Sinful) up on Twitter! :D (Yay for blatant self-advertising!)


	13. Love is not like Anything

_Chapter 13_

Gerard was upset, and Frank couldn’t tell if it was because he was still scared Frank was going to laugh at him or because of the nightmare he’d had the night before. He insisted to Frank that the bad dream wasn’t going to change anything, that he still wanted to “have their scene” in the hotel later, but he looked so upset. The whole day, even through filming, he looked sorry to be there. 

When it came time to sneak off in their uniforms, literally just running away from the filming location together and hailing a cab instead of changing and waiting for the van to pull around like they were supposed to, Gerard still had yet to crack a smile and just leaned his head over onto Frank’s shoulder for the duration of the drive. Frank wanted to ask him again if he was sure he wanted to go through with this, but he knew where that would lead. 

If Gerard said he wanted to fuck, it meant he wanted to fuck. Frank had learned that much over the course of their years together. If he said no when Gerard was in the mood, there would be consequences. Frank also had the feeling that if he kept asking Gerard if he were sure, Gerard would begin to feel that Frank was doing it to make fun of him or discount his desire to recreate his first time. Frank couldn’t let that happen either, knowing the consequences would be severe. Either Gerard would attack him or attack himself…and they didn’t need that with the tour gearing up to start again in under a week. And with that new leg of the tour came Bert—and if Frank didn’t fill Gerard’s desires, wouldn’t Bert? What was to stop Gerard from telling Bert ‘please be gentle, it’s my first time’ and actually having Bert fall for it and treat him like a virgin?

Frank couldn’t let that happen.

So when the cab pulled up at the hotel, Frank paid and tipped well before pulling Gerard out by his hand and leading him inside.

“This is a nice hotel, right?” Frank said, starting the scene early. For a creative artist like Gerard, the true success was in the details, and he was determined to make sure Gerard could get lost in the story they were telling each other.

“I… I guess so,” Gerard whispered, reaching out to hold Frank’s hand as they walked through the hall. Frank took it, not caring who they passed on their way to their room. Just as they reached their door, Frank took the initiative to place his hands on Gerard’s hips, holding him close as he leaned up for a gentle kiss. He wanted to show Gerard he wasn’t ashamed of him, wasn’t more concerned about hiding their relationship than keeping it. He just wanted his Sweetheart to know that if it did come down to it, he would choose their love over their band’s image any day. “Frank, we don’t… This was dumb. We should probably take these back,” Gerard said, pulling at the lapel of his dark blue blazer.

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Frank said, leaning up to press another kiss to Gerard’s mouth. “I’m not letting you go that easy,” he added in a seductive whisper. He turned and opened the hotel room door quickly and pulled Gerard in by his hand.

Once the door was closed, Frank pulled Gerard into another kiss, adding tongue until he finally got Gerard to moan and reciprocate a little. 

_Virgin,_ Frank thought. _Virgin. Virgin._ How was he supposed to treat a virgin? It had been so long he honestly couldn’t even remember… 

First things first he had to take it slow. So instead of immediately sliding his hand into Gerard’s jacket like he wanted to, Frank kept his hand on Gerard’s forearm, stroking it and squeezing every now and then when he felt the urge to reach for something more intimate.

_Virgin,_ he reminded himself. _Virgin. Innocent. Scared, shy virgin._

So when Gerard moaned a little more and started to get more into the kiss, pressing his hips against Frank’s, Frank backed away a little.

“Do you want to lay down?” Frank asked, presenting their messy bed as though it were a fresh hotel room two prep school boys had chipped in to buy. 

“Okay,” Gerard said, flashing Frank a fast smile—the first smile of the day—before going to sit at the foot of the bed. 

Frank smiled at him, and paused to look him over. Yeah, Gerard could pass for a high school boy. Maybe a senior, but still a schoolboy. He was cute and sexy as hell, and Frank couldn’t help but laugh a little nervously at the thought of how lucky he was to have someone as pretty and perfect as Gerard all to himself.

“What?” Gerard asked, looking self-conscious the moment Frank had let out the low chuckle.

“You just look so good right now,” Frank said, smiling in earnest. “You’re so hot and I just can’t believe you agreed to come here.”

“Oh,” Gerard said, looking a little anxious still but flashing a smile regardless. “Well… I didn’t want to disappoint you. We’ve been together a while. If I didn’t…”

“If you’re not ready, that’s okay,” Frank said moving to sit beside Gerard on the bed. He placed a hand gently over Gerard’s in his lap and kissed him on the cheek for good measure. 

“No. I…I think I am. I want to be,” Gerard whispered. He turned to look at Frank still nervous—his eyes still showing he hadn’t fully committed to the scene. He still expected Frank to start making fun of him.

“Well, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want, but if you’re sure…” Frank leaned over and kissed Gerard softly on the mouth, leaving his lips parted so Gerard could take the initiative if he wanted—which he did, slowly sliding his tongue into Frank’s mouth and moaning almost as soon as Frank began to reciprocate. He placed his hand on Frank’s knee and started sliding it upwards, pausing when he got to the bend in Frank’s thigh. 

Frank took the next move, slowly reaching down and to grab Gerard’s hand—never breaking off their kiss—and sliding it up a little further to rub against the bulge in his uniform trousers. 

Gerard pulled his hand back quickly, his eyes snapping open though he still kept his mouth pressed tight to Frank’s. 

“It’s okay,” Frank said, grabbing Gerard’s hand and squeezing it as he took a deep breath and returned to their kiss. After a moment, he was able to return Gerard’s hand to his groin and even managed to get the other _boy_ to squeeze gently. 

Instead of reaching for Gerard’s pants, Frank lifted his right hand to cup Gerard’s cheek as they kissed, cradling it and giving Gerard something to lean against as his eyes slipped closed again. He kept kissing until he physically could hold back on longer, and slid his hand down from Gerard’s cheek to grasp at his belt.

“You okay?” Frank whispered, kissing Gerard on the corner of the mouth between his heavy breaths. 

“Yeah,” Gerard whimpered, bucking against Frank’s hand. “Please, Frankie—I’m… I want to. Please?”

“Okay,” Frank said, kissing him on the lips and then sliding his hand down the front of Gerard’s trousers. Gerard let out a needy moan as soon as Frank’s fingers wrapped around his length. 

“Don’t—oh, god. Frankie, don’t do too much; I’ll cum,” Gerard whispered, his voice breaking with moans of pleasure as he dropped his forehead onto Frank’s shoulder. 

“It doesn’t take much for you, huh?” Frank asked, teasing only a little. 

“Not with you in those clothes—oh, god. Frankie, you look so sexy.” Gerard’s voice turned shrill and Frank pulled his hand out of Gerard’s trousers. All the cues in Gerard’s body language said he was already on the edge, and Gerard would never forgive him if Frank tipped him over the edge before they even got started. 

Frank stood up from the bed and started taking off his jacket, careful in setting it aside on the floor to keep it from getting too wrinkled before the next day of filming. Gerard stripped off his blazer as well as his tie, but his hands were shaking too hard from the tension for him to be able to unbutton his own shirt. He kept passing little glances to Frank as he fumbled with the buttons until Frank had taken off his own shirt and tie and climbed back onto the bed to help. 

With each button he unfastened, Frank pressed a kiss onto the skin he exposed until Gerard had laid back against the mattress, still trembling. Frank undid Gerard’s belt and pulled it free of the loops, making sure to send careful glances to his lover’s face to make sure he was okay. More than anything, Gerard looked tense, trying so hard not to give in to the pleasure that overwhelmed him. 

“Is this okay?” Frank asked as he started undoing the button on Gerard’s pants.

“Y-yeah,” Gerard whispered, his eyes squeezed tight as Frank slowly freed his straining member. Frank gave his cock a gentle stroke, smiling as Gerard twitched and let out a shrill cry of pleasure. “Don’t, Frankie—I’ll… Please, don’t, Frankie. I wanna last. I can’t if you— _oh!_ ”

Frank couldn’t resist. He sucked the tip into his mouth, lapping at the precum just to extract more of those shrill little cries. Within seconds, Gerard’s back was arching off the bed and he let out a low sob. Frank let him go and moved to untie Gerard’s shoes and then strip them off along with his pants and boxers. 

He kept a hand on Gerard’s thigh as he leaned over to pull the condoms and lube out of the drawer on the end table. As soon as he laid eyes on the condom, Gerard slapped it away and then acted as though it never happened, lying lax on the bed and waiting for Frank to crawl over top him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Frank asked as he straddled Gerard’s hips after taking off his own shoes and pants. He reached out to gently stroke Gerard’s hair and cupped his cheek again, waiting for Gerard to look him in the eye. As soon as they met, Frank saw how blown his pupils were and how much light and life shined in his eyes. 

“I’m okay, Frankie,” Gerard whispered, leaning up for a kiss which Frank readily reciprocated. 

“This might hurt a little, but I promise, if you ask me…I’ll stop,” Frank said, giving in fully to the scene as he leaned back and uncapped the lubricant. 

Gerard spread his legs expectantly, almost too in the mood to play innocent though Frank wouldn’t dare comment on it. Frank gave him another soft kiss before pressing one finger slowly inside. Gerard tensed and let out a small whimper that kept going on and on until Frank gave him another kiss. 

“I’m gonna add another, okay?”

“Okay, Frankie,” Gerard whispered, moaning when Frank slipped a second finger inside. He let out a couple noises of mixed pleasure pain as Frank started scissoring the fingers to stretch him. Frank didn’t ask permission when it came time to add a third digit, and Gerard barely seemed to notice. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Frank asked softly.

“I’m okay, Frankie. You won’t hurt me,” Gerard said, reaching his arms out for Frank who pulled his fingers out and crawled up to give Gerard another deep kiss. 

“I’ll go slow, alright? If it hurts, just tell me.” Frank sat back to slick himself up with lubricant. Gerard squirmed as Frank got him into the right position, and then let out a shrill gasp when Frank started pressing inside. “It’s okay,” Frank said in as gentle of a voice as he could manage. He tried to go slow as he pushed all the way in, but it was hard with how much noise Gerard was making, egging him on. Even so, he waited for several seconds after he was all the way inside so Gerard could adjust, kissing at his jaw and neck to keep himself focused. “Does it feel okay?” Frank asked.

Gerard nodded quickly and spread his legs father, too far gone in his need to really play the role he wanted. Frank refused to let himself get as caught up in the sensations as Gerard though. He knew how important it was that he stay gentle and careful so that even if Gerard couldn’t focus to play his part, Frank still didn’t let him down.

He set up a gentle pace and entwined the fingers of his free hand with Gerard’s, using the other to support his weight. In between cries of pleasure, Gerard would lean up for kisses, sometimes just gentle pecks on the corner of Frank’s mouth, sometimes a little deeper. When Frank tried to pull his hands from Gerard’s in order to reach between them and stroke Gerard’s length, Gerard groaned and held his hand tighter. Frank worked harder to angle his thrusts in order to find Gerard’s sweet spot, and not soon after he struck it Gerard started rocking back against Frank’s hips. His moans of pleasure started to turn to sobs as his body started shaking again, so close to the edge. 

“Frank, I really love you,” Gerard whimpered, closing his eyes as the tears flooded him.

“I love you too—are you okay?” Frank asked, kissing Gerard’s jaw and cheek, working his way to his temple and finally his forehead. 

“I’m fine, Frankie. So close—feels so good.” Gerard’s voice was shrill and kept cracking with desperate cries of ecstasy. 

With a few more well-angled thrusts, Gerard’s body began to spasm and his cries were choked off as he came against Frank’s chest. Frank finished soon after, moaning softly and burying his head in the bend of Gerard’s shoulder. 

“Frankie, I fuckin’ love you. I love you so much, Frank. _Please_ believe me,” Gerard whimpered, shaking as Frank slowly pulled himself out and laid at Gerard’s side.

“Hush, Sweetheart,” Frank said, reaching out to stroke Gerard’s hair. Gerard gave a happy, contented sigh and rolled onto his side, scooting to lie as close to Frank as he could. “I love you too.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Gerard said, his voice still choked and heavy as he came down from his orgasm. “I _love_ you. I’d _die_ for you.”

“Hush,” Frank said, still petting Gerard’s hair. “I know. I love you too.”

Gerard reached out and grasped onto Frank’s hands, holding it tightly and trying to press his body even closer to Frank’s. Gerard started to say more, but Frank could neither hear nor understand him. His voice was too low and broken up by little cries and deep breaths, but Frank could tell it was merely more words of affection. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Frank whispered. “So perfect, Sweetheart.”

Gerard mumbled something in return and squeezed Frank’s hand tighter. Moments later, he drifted off to sleep and Frank smiled, still holding onto the hand which had gone limp in his grasp. He looked so peaceful when he slept, even with little tears still rolling down his cheeks. 

So beautiful. So perfect.

Frank leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Gerard’s damp cheek, still smiling as he pulled Gerard closer and closed his eyes as well. 

It felt like only seconds had passed before there was a sharp rap at the door. Frank shot up, letting go of Gerard’s hand and then immediately reaching back for it, his sleepy brain still feeling the need to stay connected to his lover. The knock came a second time and Gerard stirred, moaning in his sleep but not quite awake.

“Shit,” Frank whispered, slowly untangling himself and getting up from the bed. It took him a moment to realize he didn’t have any underwear on and he had to fumble around in the dim lighting to find a pair of boxers on the floor he could slip on. Incidentally, they were Gerard’s, but Frank doubted whoever was on the other side of the door would notice.

Just as the knocking came a third time, Frank pull the door open and crack and peered out, cringing when he saw it was Brian with a less than pleased expression on his face. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Can you keep your voice down?” Frank said, rubbing at his eyes which burned with want of sleep. “Gerard’s sleeping…”

“You two _stole_ those uniforms. I came to get them back.”

“We didn’t steal them,” Frank mumbled. “We borrowed them.”

“For _what?_ ”

“For…For seeing if people would believe we were high school kids. I don’t know it was…Gerard’s idea,” Frank said, looking over his shoulder at Gerard who was still moaning groggily. 

“Gerard’s idea?”

“Yeah… Gerard’s idea. We’ll bring them back tomorrow,” Frank said. “They’re clean… They’re hanging up.”

“I need them now. They’re owed back to the production studio. Give them here.”

“Fine, just a second.” Frank backed up and closed the door, locking it so Brian couldn’t come barging in and see the uniform trousers spread about on the floor or any of the other telltale signs of sex…like the discarded condom lying beside the bed or the bottle of lubricant on the end table.

Frank quickly put the condom and lube back into the drawer and then collected all the different parts of his and Gerard’s uniforms, draping them over his arm before opening the door and passing them off to Brian.

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” Brian asked, sounding more exasperated than curious as he took inventory of the uniforms to make certain that nothing was missing.

“I was in the shower,” Frank lied, running his fingers through his hair. It was slightly damp—with sweat instead of water.

“Whatever. Is he drunk again? Why is he asleep?”

“What’s it to you?” Frank snapped, feeling more protective than usual. It was an understandable question. Why else would Gerard be napping at six in the evening? 

“What’s your problem? You’re the one who ran off with the studio’s property. You’re lucky I’m not yelling at you so cut it with the attitude, alright, Iero?”

“Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow at filming,” Frank muttered, shutting the door and locking it again. Gerard was still sleeping when Frank crawled back into bed beside him, but was still aware enough of the renewed warmth that he let out a contented little sigh and snuggled closer. “Love you, Sweetheart,” Frank whispered, stroking Gerard’s hair as he tried to fall back into sleep.

Gerard mumbled something back in his sleep, nothing close to comprehensible. 

“You’re so perfect,” Frank said quietly, smiling as Gerard tried answering him again through his sleepy haze. “So beautiful…”

“Pretty Frankie,” Gerard mumbled.

“Love you,” Frank said again, kissing Gerard gently on the mouth. 

“Love…Frankie.”

“You do?” Frank asked, his tone playful.

Gerard hummed affirmatively and wetted his lips. 

“I bet Frankie loves you more,” Frank said, trying to see how much he could coax Gerard into saying while his defenses were completely dropped.

“No,” Gerard breathed.

“No?”

“Not…” He muttered more inaudible words and then added, “My Frankie…love Frankie.” 

“Frankie loves you too,” Frank said, giggling softly and kissing Gerard one last time on the cheek. 

“Good,” Gerard whispered. Nothing profound, nothing desperate or romantic. Just ‘good.’

Frank couldn’t help but laugh, the noise startling Gerard who jerked awake and let out a pained whimper. 

“What?” He groaned. “What happened?”

“Nothing, Sweetheart. You were talking in your sleep. It was cute.”

“Ugh—I don’t talk in my sleep. What are you talking about?” Gerard rubbed at his face and slumped back down against the mattress, putting his head on Frank’s shoulder. 

“You do too talk in your sleep.”

“Well what did I say? ‘Stop bugging me, I’m sleeping’?”

“You said you loved me and you think I’m pretty,” Frank said, shifting to get and arm around Gerard’s shoulder under the pillow. Gerard sought out his hand and held it again as they had been when he’d fallen asleep the first time, and played absently with Frank’s fingers, examining the tattoos.

“You are pretty,” Gerard whispered.

“Nah—Not like you,” Frank said, turning to kiss Gerard’s temple and nuzzle his hair.

“I’m nothing compared to you, Frank. Nothing.”

“I don’t think so,” Frank said, trying not to take his words too seriously, knowing he was still mostly asleep. 

“You’re too good for me,” Gerard whispered. 

“Why do you say that, hm?” Frank asked, kissing Gerard’s temple again. “You’re perfect for me.”

Gerard let out a sad, heavy sigh and pulled Frank’s hand down to his chest protectively, as if he was afraid someone might try to pull it away from him. 

“Why do you say you’re not good enough for me?” Frank asked again, opening and closing his fingers until Gerard finally entwined their fingers.

“Because…”

“That’s not enough of an answer,” Frank said, his tone playful. 

“I don’t know… It just feels unfair.”

“What’s unfair?” 

“You make me feel so safe…but what do I give you?”

“Companionship. Affection—”

“Things our dogs give you.”

“Baby, you’re extremely creative, you’ve got your own little world up in your head and it’s an honor to me when you let me see what goes on up there. It amazes me that someone as creative as you would settle for someone…bland and boring like me.”

“You’re not boring,” Gerard said, turning his head to look at Frank. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Who doesn’t draw or paint or sketch comics in the middle of the night.”

“You help me with lyrics,” Gerard said, almost sounding like he was grasping for answers. “And I could teach you to draw comics—we could make one together.”

“Yeah?” Frank asked, smiling when Gerard’s eyes started to look frantic. He hated it whenever Frank said something to make himself sound inferior to Gerard in any way.

“Of course. But not right now though… I’m still tired.” 

“Mm. Me too,” Frank said, kissing Gerard on the temple until Gerard turned to meet his lips. 

“Don’t leave before I wake up,” Gerard whispered as he snuggled down into Frank’s side. 

“Where would I go?” Frank asked, smiling and squeezing Gerard tight one last time before curling up for sleep. 

“Away,” Gerard whispered.

“No. I’d never go away,” Frank said. After a long pause he added, “What sort of boyfriend would I be if I left you after your first time?”

Gerard let out a quiet, happy noise and buried his head under Frank’s chin.


	14. A Story to Kill Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so, so sorry. So sorry. I'm sorry.

_Chapter 14_

On their last morning in the hotel, Frank refused to get out of bed to shower. Gerard was tempted to ignore the need to wash up as well and just stay beside him, but the belief that if he got in the shower Frank would follow convinced him to stay awake. He tried taking as long as possible under the stream of water, but Frank still didn’t come to join him and Gerard eventually gave up and started drying off. After fluffing his hair a few times, Gerard became aware of the sound of Frank’s voice coming from the other side of the bathroom door, talking to someone though Gerard couldn’t hear anyone else in the room.

Quickly, he wound the towel around his waist and opened the door. Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand holding his cell phone to his ear and the other supporting his head as he leaned forward—rocked forward

“Frank?” Gerard asked, fear striking him and making his skin prickle and burn. 

Frank didn’t even look up at him, he just kept muttering to the person on the phone, his voice low and serious.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be there—No. No, that’s not a problem. I’ll _be_ there.”

“Frank?” Gerard went over to him and tried to reach for him, but Frank slapped his hand away—and then immediately seized it and started absently rubbing at Gerard’s fingers, silently apologizing yet still sending the message that he didn’t want Gerard to speak.

“Alright. I’m… I’m gonna check out the flights then I’ll call you back… Alright. I love you too. Bye.” 

Frank set his phone aside and sighed heavily, leaning forward until his head touched his knees. 

“Frank?” Gerard asked again, squeezing Frank’s hand in a way he hoped was reassuring instead of needy. “What’s the matter?”

“Shit,” Frank said, sighing deeply and leaning back, falling back against the bed.

“What happened?—Why are you going to look at flights?”

“It’s… It’s my dad. He’s in the hospital.”

“Your dad?” Gerard moved to lie next to Frank on the bed, but as soon as he curled close, Frank sat back up, fisting his hair in his hands and letting out a shaky sigh. 

“Yeah. I gotta go see him. They say he’s not doing very well and…I haven’t seen him in years so I have to go.”

“Okay… Um. I can tell Brian we’ll be leaving so you don’t have to—”

“You’re not coming,” Frank said, almost angrily.

“Frank—”

“No. You’re _not_ coming with me. My dad…doesn’t like what I am and…the band can play shows without me. There’s replacements for me, but they don’t replace the lead singer. It’s not fair to anyone if we cancel the first week or two of shows—”

“You’re going for a week?” Gerard asked, feeling more than just fear for Frank hitting him. He was frightened for himself, too, and hurt that Frank wouldn’t let him come.

“Or more, I don’t know,” Frank said. “He might _die,_ Gerard. I want to be there. I’m not going to leave until…until he’s better or—whatever. I’m going, you’re staying, that’s the end of it. I’ll tell Brian myself.” Frank stood up from the bed quickly and tossed a shirt in Gerard’s direction. “You need to get dressed.”

“Frank, I don’t want to stay here without you. _Please_ let me come. I’ve never met your dad—I… I want to.”

“Well it’s not about you, okay!? He doesn’t like that I’m gay! I’m not taking my _boyfriend_ to his fucking deathbed! Get over it.”

He knew Frank was only lashing out because he was scared and anxious, but it still hurt. Frank seldom lost his temper and when he did and it was directed at Gerard, it hurt. It hurt more than anything. 

“If something goes wrong I want to be there for you,” Gerard said.

_“No!_ Goddamnit, _no,_ Gerard. Stay here—do the band. Do fucking Bert I don’t give a shit, you’re not coming.”

Gerard couldn’t help it. Tears started welling in his eyes and his attempts to fight them proved futile when Frank scolded him for “forcing tears” in an attempt to guilt Frank into taking him along. By the time Frank was done yelling at him, Gerard was sobbing. 

“Frank, you can’t leave me here alone,” Gerard cried as he watched Frank start packing his things.

“You won’t be alone. You’ll be with Bert.”

“Please don’t say that,” Gerard whispered. “Please, Frank—everything’s been going so well, please don’t say that. I don’t want to be with Bert.”

“Gerard, just _stop talking._ Alright? I’ve got… God, I have enough on my mind okay? My dad’s practically dead! I don’t need you to come back to Jersey with me and start having flashback and nightmares ‘cause you’re jealous I spend all my time with him! Just stay here, stay out of my way.”

“I wouldn’t get jealous! I just want to be there for you! You’re my _partner,_ Frank. We’re supposed to help each other when bad things happen.”

“Well I don’t need your help. All I need is for you to shut your mouth, get dressed, and pack your shit for the tour.”

Still crying, Gerard made himself obey Frank’s orders. He tried to help Frank pack, but his hands were slapped away until Frank finally had enough and delivered one sharp, stinging blow to Gerard’s cheek.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard cried into Mikey’s chest the entire drive to the venue. Mikey held him close and petted his hair, saying every word he could think of that might calm his older brother down but nothing worked. Mikey couldn’t believe Frank had actually lashed out at Gerard, but he understood why. There was a lot more at play in Frank’s mind than just his father being ill—he also knew that as soon as the tour kicked off again, Gerard would be reunited with Bert and though he made a show of believing it when Gerard told him he’d never cheated, everyone knew Frank wasn’t fooled. 

Frank knew Gerard had cheated just as Mikey knew they wouldn’t be performing at the venue like they were scheduled to. Gerard kept trying to call Frank, but his boyfriend never answered him, and every time the phone went to voicemail, Gerard would hold on to Mikey that much tighter.

When they reached the venue, Gerard refused to even get out of the van insisting that Bert would see him and he wasn’t ready to see Bert yet. So Mikey say with him while Ray and Bob went to watch the other bands perform. 

It was around midnight when Gerard’s phone finally rang, but when the number shown wasn’t Frank’s, Gerard was practically unable to speak so Mikey had to answer for him.

It was Frank’s mother, but even that didn’t soothe him.

“Frank said that might happen,” Frank’s mother said when Mikey told her Gerard didn’t want to talk. 

“Frank got in okay,” Mikey said to Gerard who was only slightly consoled. Part of his hysteria came from the belief that now that they had been separated by more than a few miles, Frank’s plane would crash and he’d never see him again. 

“Listen, I know Frank said he didn’t want Gerard to come, but…he’s not acting himself without Gerard here. I mean, he’s at the hospital now, but he was all torn up when he got here. I haven’t ever seen him this bad before.”

“He could’ve called,” Mikey said, not quite sure how to address the woman he’d never met. He wasn’t exactly fond of Frank the majority of the time, and it felt wrong to be talking to her at all.

“He wouldn’t have been able to say anything if he had. Every time he started trying to speak to me he would end up crying.”

“Yeah,” Mikey said, looking down at his chest where Gerard still lay crying. 

“If Gerard doesn’t have the money for it, I’ll wire him the money or something. I don’t know. Just send him here before Frank loses his mind.”

“Frank made it clear he didn’t want Gerard to come. I’m not sending my brother over there so Frank can hit him again and make him feel even worse.”

“ _Hit_ him?”

“Yeah. Hit him.”

“Mikey, don’t tell her that,” Gerard said, sounding hurt. “I said that was a secret.”

“If Frank calls and says he wants Gerard, then he can go, but otherwise I’m not letting him badger Gerard anymore. He said he wanted time to himself and having Gerard show up would just piss him off.”

“You don’t understand,” Frank’s mother said, her tone becoming very grim. “If something happens to Frank’s father—”

“He said he didn’t want Gerard there,” Mikey said. It irritated him that everyone seemed to think Gerard’s emotions were free to manipulate. It hurt Gerard to know Frank was upset. It hurt him when Frank told him he wasn’t welcome to meet his father or offer support to Frank if things took a turn for the worst. It _ruined_ Gerard to have Frank more than a few miles apart when they’d never even been in separate states since they’d gotten back together. Without having Frank within reach, Gerard didn’t know what to do with himself. 

If he got his hopes up that Frank wanted to see him back in Jersey—that Frank had changed his mind—and Gerard got there and Frank rejected him…Mikey doubted he’d still have an older brother by the end of the ordeal. 

“Frank’s not in any position to be making rash decisions,” his mother said. “Before we could even go to the hospital he just—”

“I don’t care,” Mikey said. “I don’t care about Frank.” 

Gerard struck his hand against Mikey’s chest and gestured for his brother to hand him the phone, but Mikey jerked away. 

“He hit my brother, he berated my brother, he yelled at him and told him not to come. Gerard’s not coming unless Frank calls and says he wants him there. You can’t just yank my brother around like that. He’s been through enough shit, and if Frank wants to deal with his shit _alone,_ then I say good. One less thing Gerard has to worry about.”

“Mikey,” Gerard said harshly. 

“Frank can’t think straight for five seconds, okay? He’s got a lot going on, you know? His father is sick, he feels bad for leaving his band, he—”

“I don’t care about Frank!” Mikey repeated, annunciating every word. “I don’t give a shit about him and what he’s got going on. I care about _Gerard._ I care about _my_ brother, and your son broke his heart this morning!”

“Mikey, stop it,” Gerard said, finally sitting up. He tried to grab for the phone, but Mikey kept pushing his hand away.

“I understand that. I know… Yes, you’re right,” Frank’s mother said, sounding offended but also resigned, like she knew she had lost but wasn’t happy about it.

“Mikey, let me talk to her,” Gerard said, reaching for the phone.

“Tell Frank if he wants to talk to Gerard he should call him himself,” Mikey said before hanging up the phone and passing a stern look to his brother, guarding himself against the onslaught of anger he knew was about to be directed at him.

“Why were you so rude to her!? That’s—she’s like my _mother in law!_ ”

“Your my brother; I’m not letting anyone put you in a situation I don’t think you’ll come back out of.”

“What are you talking about?” Gerard snapped. “She said she wanted me to come there, didn’t she? That Frank _needs_ me.”

“Yeah, she _thinks_ Frank needs you. But what if you go there, Gerard, and he turns on you and gives you a repeat of what happened this morning? Do you really think you’re going to come out of that alive? Because I don’t. Not with me all the way out here. And even if I did come with you, you’d probably just find a way to sneak off… If Frank wants you there, he’ll call. You’re not going until he calls.”

“He’s not gonna call,” Gerard muttered. “You need to apologize to Linda for your attitude. She’s a nice lady.”

“You told me she was a bitch.”

“Well, she kept prying,” Gerard said, sighing and sinking back down in his seat. “I feel like such a fuckin’ failure right now. I can’t sing, I can’t help Frank… What the fuck am I doing?” Gerard started rubbing at his eyes against the burn of tears and sighed. “The fuck am I doing?”

( ) ( ) ( )

As soon as he approached the doorway of his father’s hospital room, all of the aversions Frank had had toward his father suddenly felt so insignificant to him. Everything seemed so petty now that the man he’d known growing up was lying in a bed, pale faced, and hooked to machines. Frank felt so guilty, and he hadn’t thought there was any room in his chest for more heartache. 

“There’s my boy,” his father whispered, somehow seeing or sensing Frank where he stood at the door. 

“Hey, Pop,” Frank said, stepping into the room cautiously. He hadn’t seen his father in years…now he felt so foolish. Hadn’t he known that eventually his father would get sick? Would die? Had he really been alright with the idea that he’d never speak to his father again when he refused all the phone calls and ignored all the requests to come visit?

“Where’s your…your other half?” His father asked, his lips twitching into a smile as Frank neared his bed and sat at the chair beside it.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked, wringing his hands together nervously before finally deciding to reach out and touch his father’s arm. 

“Your mom said you had a…a little boyfriend who follows you around.”

Frank felt his stomach twist into knots when he saw his father was still smiling as he spoke of it, not at all the angry, disgusted man Frank remembered from his youth. 

“He’s… He’s back in L.A. with the band. I asked him to stay there,” Frank said, looking from his father’s slowly darkening face to his hand where it rested against his dad’s arm.

“What, I don’t even get to meet him?”

“I thought you…” Frank couldn’t bring himself to say it. He didn’t want to admit that he thought his father would sit up in his hospital bed after having a massive heart attack and preach at him about how it was sinful to be gay if he saw Gerard come in with him.

“So he didn’t come with you,” his father said, sighing.

Frank felt pathetic when tears started running down his cheeks. He felt like he couldn’t do anything right—like every thought he’d had since getting the phone call had been wrong. It made him feel so helpless, and the more he thought of how bad Gerard must feel—back in L.A., back in front of a crowd without the one person he relied on—the more upset he became.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Frank said, trying to get himself under control. Every time he thought he managed to stop himself, another sob would choke him until Frank gave in and leaned forward to lie his head down on the bed beside his father’s arm. 

“Well don’t cry about it. You kids…always have you smartphones or whatever they are. Can’t I at least see a picture of this boy?”

“Yeah,” Frank said, forcing himself to sit up and pull his phone from his hoodie pocket. He had two texts from Gerard that he had yet to read. One was an apology. The other was a short paragraph telling Frank he was sorry about this morning and that he hoped Frank’s plane had landed okay and that his father was doing alright. There was no “I love you” and that worried Frank. It worried him more than it should’ve.

“What? Don’t have any pictures?” His father asked after Frank had stared at his phone for too long. 

“Yeah, just a…second.” Frank typed a quick ‘I’m sorry. I love you’ to Gerard and then started scrolling through photos. There were many of Gerard in the school uniform, but Frank was wary of showing that one to his father, afraid he be put off by all the makeup Gerard was wearing. There were some photos of Gerard in his stage clothes, but in most of them he was drunk and it showed in his eyes…

Frank settled for one from before the tour—Gerard holding up Pig and smiling for Frank and the camera. 

“Oh yeah,” Frank’s father said as he leaned up to look at the picture, as if he were surprised. “He looks enough like a girl.”

“Dad…”

“Show me a better picture. This one’s too dark.”

So Frank showed him another, and then another. Before long he was showing a chronicle of his and Gerard’s life together—accidentally showing one of their _intimate_ photos and cursing as he drew back the phone a second too late.

“I know I said I wanted to see him, but I didn’t mean _all_ of him, Frank,” his father said, laughing until tears came to his eyes. 

“Sorry—God, am I sorry,” Frank said, laughing too and rubbing at his eyes and face which burned red. 

A few moments after they’d both recovered, his father started asking all the basic questions—what was Gerard like, how old was he, then the hard question: How had they met.

“I can tell you the short story or the long one,” Frank said.

“What’s the short story?” His father asked, his eyes going closed as if he were about to fall asleep. 

“Uh—we sort of ran into each other at a grocery store, really hit it off, and we’ve lived together ever since.”

“When was that?”

“Um…a few years ago.”

“So what’s the long story?”

“I met him when I was nineteen,” Frank said, grappling with the decision of whether or not to tell his father the truth given the state he was in. “I went to this bar, right? I’d _just_ won the lottery right? I won five grand so I went to this bar I didn’t know to celebrate.”

“Let me guess—photos like you’ve got, face like a girl, he’s a stripper.”

“He was a sex slave,” Frank said, more guilt hitting him as he thought of his lover who still hadn’t replied to his text. “I bought him for five hundred bucks from this guy who…tortured him, beat him, raped him… I took him home and started taking care of him. I was gonna call the cops; I didn’t _want_ a slave, I just felt bad for him being there. I don’t know—it’s all kind of fuzzy these days. Um… The cops showed up at my place, they took him in and sent him back to his family—his little brother is in our band too.”

“Then you ran into him in a store a few years later and started dating?”

“Not exactly,” Frank mumbled, sending Gerard another text. “I visited him at home and we just got really close. I love him so much. He broke up with me the next year, but it was for the best. He got his life together and we met up again. Now we’ve got a house together and the band… I love him more than anything.”

Frank sent text after text, going so far as to spell things wrong so he could send another text with a spelling correction.

Finally, _finally_ Gerard texted back. 

“I miss u.”

That was it. Still no ‘I love you.’

Frank was starting to get scared that he might not have a boyfriend of close to a dozen years by the time he got back to L.A.

“And you didn’t let him come,” his father mumbled, his disapproval showing through. “I am going to meet this boy someday, right?”

“If you get better,” Frank said.

“If? I’m not that old, Frank. It was just a heart attack. People have them all the time.”

“Not you,” Frank mumbled while texting Gerard ‘please forgive me.’

“I’ve still…gotta get tickets to one of your shows. Preferably one your mom’s not at.”

“Anything you want, Dad,” Frank said, flashing a quick smile before staring back down at his phone, waiting for a reply that didn’t come. He sent two more texts, waiting desperately for any reply at all. 

Then his heart tightened even more when a text finally came through.

“What’s the matter? Hey—Frank, what’s wrong?” His father asked, trying to reach for Frank’s hand. Frank pulled back and stared down at his phone, tears falling yet again. 

_Lol. This is Mikey. G is with Bert._


	15. It's Hard to Say I Miss You

_Chapter 15_

Gerard had known Bert wouldn’t take it well. He’d _known._

But he was so fucking stupid… He was too fucking stubborn to let Mikey come with him when he told Bert that their relationship was over. He didn’t want Bert to feel ganged upon. He may not have wanted to sleep with Bert anymore, but he didn’t want him to be hurt. He admired Bert, he _loved_ Bert, but Frank meant more to him. He loved Frank more and he couldn’t risk losing that rare, beautiful thing he and his partner had. 

After their fight that morning, Gerard saw just how badly Frank had been hurt by the affair, even if he appeared to believe Gerard when he told him that it had never been sexual. Frank had slapped him, actually slapped him, and Gerard knew there was more behind it than fear for his father and frustration at Gerard.

He tried not to take it personally when Frank didn’t answer his texts even to say that his flight had landed or if his father was doing alright. He knew Frank was upset and it was partially Gerard’s own fault that he had gotten to that state. That was why Gerard decided to leave his phone with Mikey, so he wouldn’t get tempted to call Frank and make everything worse. His boyfriend wanted space and Gerard would give it to him…and he wouldn’t let that distance go to waste. With Frank out of the way for a little bit, Gerard knew it was now or never. 

He had to end things with Bert. He had no choice. And if Frank wasn’t there to see or hear about it, maybe he would eventually believe the lie that there had never been a real relationship between him and Bert.

That entire idea was so naïve and through his pain, Gerard just felt dumb. 

The pain was excruciating, intolerable. Gerard lie in the cramped, dark comfort of the space beneath one of the other bands’ tour busses. He was pretty sure he was lying on broken glass, but the small bits of broken bottle piercing his skin were almost a welcomed distraction from the pain in his mouth and his gut—and pretty much everywhere else for that matter. Even the small, shallow breaths he took were painful. His ribs ached, preventing him from really sobbing even though he was sure he was in the worst agony of his life. The effort to keep from screaming—knowing the screams would hurt his ribs—made his throat start to burn. 

The pain ate away at what was left of his rational mind and left him as little more than a screaming, frightened toddler abandoned in a dark, damp parking lot.

Every few minutes Gerard would reach at his pockets for his phone and then weep a little harder each time he realized it wasn’t with him. He wanted to call Frank—he wanted to hear from Frank and make sure his father was okay and apologize for all the trouble he’d caused that morning. He wanted to call Mikey and have his little brother help him back to the van because he couldn’t walk on his own.

Now, all he could do to help himself was hide and cower and pray that one of his band mates found him before Bert or his gang of friends stumbled upon him again.

Gerard had known Bert wouldn’t react well, and he’d anticipated that Bert wouldn’t be happy with him after Gerard had ignored almost all of his calls and texts over the break from tour. The first thing Bert did when Gerard approached him was shove him back a step and curse him out. He’d had an entire speech about how he’d _really needed_ Gerard’s support over the break, and how much of an asshole Gerard was for ignoring him and treating him like shit. 

Gerard barely got a word in edgewise before Bert punched him in the mouth. Once Gerard fell onto the ground, two other people rushed over to them—people Gerard didn’t recognize—and then all hell had broken lose. Bert didn’t need to tell those other men what had happened, whoever was an enemy to Bert was an enemy to them and they had no trouble helping Bert beat the shit out of Gerard.

By the time they had finished, Gerard was sorry he’d ever met Bert, sorry he’d ever thought he was good enough to be Bert’s friend or even his occasional lover. He was kicked in the ribs and in the groin over and over until one of the men held him up by his shoulders so Bert could spit in his face before punching him one last time. 

Bert walked away…the other men weren’t finished. Gerard didn’t know if they were high or drunk (or both), but they didn’t stop the assault until Gerard literally gave up and played dead. He went limp, stopped letting out cries of pain when they kicked him or slapped him, and they’d eventually let him be. 

Unable to even pick himself up from the ground or even crawl, Gerard dragged himself ten yards to lie underneath the tour bus. He listened for Mikey or Ray’s voices, but none of his bandmates ever came by. Why would they? There was no reason to wander the parking lot…they hadn’t even played a show. 

Gerard lay trembling for over an hour, choking back screams and weeping. Every now and then he would let out a cry for help, but no one ever seemed to hear. Groups of people walked by, one flicking down a cigarette that rolled under the bus and nearly singed Gerard’s hand, but none were the people Gerard wanted…

None of them would ever be Frank.

( ) ( ) ( )

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, wiping at his cheeks when he realized he’d started crying again. “I wanted to come make you feel better, not…not act like a crybaby.”

“What’s the matter with you?” His father asked, showing his genuine concern. 

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not _nothing._ ”

“It’s… It’s complicated.”

“Frank…”

“My boyfriend…he’s with another guy. A guy I think he’s cheated with before,” Frank said, shaking his head as he tried to dispel more tears.

“Oh.”

“I thought he was texting me and now…I think it was his brother _pretending_ to be him,” Frank said, trying to make sense of it all. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I understand. If you need to go—”

“No. There’s nothing I can do. I just…have to trust him,” Frank said, knowing he looked as hopeless as he felt. 

“So who is this other guy?” His father asked, looking irritable on Frank’s behalf. Frank was too worried and stressed to feel anything close to anger. His heart was hurting and if it weren’t already broken, he would say Gerard had done the final act to shatter it.

“Gerard’s ideal match,” Frank muttered. “He’s another singer. Gerard’s obsessed with him. He’s creative like Gerard is. Like I’m _not._ ”

“You think he’s cheating and you still call him your boyfriend,” his father said, sounding a little disappointed. 

“You don’t understand Gerard,” Frank said with a heavy sigh. “You can’t get _mad_ at Gerard. He doesn’t understand things. He was kidnapped when he was…fourteen or fifteen. And in a lot of ways he’s still in that mindset. He never really grew up. He loves me. I _know_ he loves me, but I think he loves Bert, too.”

“Kidnapped or not he should know it’s not okay to have another guy on the side. That’s just common curtesy.”

“Gerard doesn’t _think._ He has feelings and he acts on them. He’s always been that way. I can’t get mad at him because I don’t know if Bert put him in a situation where he felt he _couldn’t_ say no, or if… I don’t even think Gerard _can_ say no to be honest. He gets… Gerard is—I don’t know.” Frank buried his head in his hands and let out another deep sigh. “Sometimes I think Gerard would be better off with Bert.”

“You can’t get to thinking like that. Sometimes you get competition. Everybody’s eyes wander sometimes, Frankie. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen some other guy on this tour and thought about sneaking off with him.”

“No,” Frank said firmly. “I haven’t. Gerard’s my everything. I live for him. I’d…I’d do _anything_ for him. I don’t think about other guys. I don’t have time. My mind is always on him…”

His father seemed perturbed by the answer, like unconditional love was a mystery. But when he finally found words and went to speak, he was cut short by the shrill ringing of Frank’s phone.

“I’m sorry, Pop. It’s… It _might be_ Gerard.” Frank stood up when he answered the call and stood by the doorway, unwilling to walk out of the room and leave his father’s side on the off chance something might happen. “Hello?”

“Hey, Frank, it’s Ray.”

“Why are you calling from Gerard’s phone?” Frank asked, unable to keep from sounding bitter. 

“Um…I didn’t think you’d pick up for anyone else but Gerard.”

“Why are you calling me? Did something happen?” 

“How’s your dad?”

“He’s fine—would you just tell me what’s happening please?”

“Gerard didn’t want me to tell you this and…Mikey’s not too keen on it either, but I think you have a right to know that Gerard’s in the hospital.”

“ _What?_ Why?—What did he do? Last thing I heard, he was with Bert—what the fuck happened?”

“Bert apparently beat the shit out of him. I don’t know what went on, but Gerard’s…he’s gonna be okay—he’s not gonna die—but he’s got a couple broken ribs and a bad concussion.”

Frank didn’t know what to think. Everything in his life had been so perfect—he and Gerard had created that synthetic first time and they’d been inseparable. Gerard could barely keep from holding Frank’s hand in public after that. Now everything had just gone wrong. His father was sick, he’d lashed out at Gerard, and now Gerard was in the hospital in L.A. 

Frank felt like he was about to be torn in half. 

“Can I talk to him please?” Frank asked, crying again and covering his face with his hand. 

“He’s on a lot of pain medication.”

“I won’t yell at him or anything. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Yeah… I’ll put him on. Just let me…sneak past Mikey really quick.”

Frank waited in silence until he heard Ray’s distant voice and quiet whimpers he recognized instantly to be Gerard’s. 

“Frankie?” 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Frank said, trying to sound like he had his composure. “What happened? Huh?”

“I’m sorry, Frank. I’m really sorry.” He sounded drunk, the pain medication making him woozy and disoriented.

“No, no, baby. Don’t be sorry, just tell me what happened. What happened?”

“I went to go talk to Bert… I went to tell him we were over.”

“That… That _we_ were over?” Frank asked, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

“No,” Gerard said, sniffing loudly. “I don’t want us to be over. Please don’t leave me, Frank. I’m sorry about this morning. I just wanted to come with you. I don’t want us to be apart.”

“I know, Sweetheart. I’m not going to leave you. I promise. But can you tell me what…what did you say to Bert?”

“I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore because I love you and I want to be with you.”

“You…you went to—to break up with Bert,” Frank said, feeling it like a stab in the chest.

“Yeah,” Gerard said, sounding sad and guilty. 

“And he hurt you?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he do? Did he…” Frank glanced over at his father who was politely pretending the sleep, and then lowered his voice. “Were you raped, Sweetheart?”

“No,” Gerard said softly. “They just kicked me a lot. Bert only…he punched me and slapped me and walked away. The other guys kicked me over and over. It _still hurts._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Frank said. “Do you…do you need me to come back?”

“No,” Gerard said, sounding as forceful as he could with all the drugs in his system. “I’m gonna be fine. I’m performing tomorrow. I promised the band…”

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” Frank said softly. 

“Neither should you, Frankie.”

Frank sighed quietly and scanned the lines in the tile floor. Everything was just so wrong…

“Gerard, did you…ever sleep with Bert?” Frank asked, knowing there was no other time he could ask. Now just seemed like the right time to get everything out in the open. Gerard wouldn’t have to worry about Frank pushing him away if he was honest because there was already as much distance between them as possible. 

“Yeah,” Gerard whispered, sounding as if he were about to fall asleep.

“When?” 

“When he asked me to,” Gerard said softly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted him to be my friend.”

Frank would get mad at him if his heart weren’t broken. It wasn’t _fair._ He _wanted_ to get angry—to yell and show Gerard that he couldn’t just sleep with whomever he felt like. But he felt Gerard had gotten enough of a punishment. Bert had had him beaten and with Frank on the other side of the country Gerard got a taste of what it felt like to have lost Frank because of his indiscretion. Frank wished he were man enough to tell Gerard off for being unfaithful after everything Frank had done for him, but after looking at his father in the hospital bed, Frank felt that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

His father had belittled him as a kid, rejected him as a teenager for his “alternative lifestyle,” and yet Frank still loved him. All the fights, all the heartache, the bad feelings, they didn’t matter. His father was his father, and he loved him. Gerard was his partner, and it didn’t matter if Bert had weaseled his way in between them. Frank loved him. He would always love him no matter how much it hurt. 

“Did he ever rape you?” Frank asked, knowing now was probably the only chance he’d ever get to extract the truth from Gerard who was too inebriated to come up with any stories.

“Just that one time when I got away. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Did you really…want him to do all that stuff to you?” Frank asked, keeping his voice a low whisper in hopes his father wouldn’t hear too much.

“No.”

“No?”

“He scared me, but…I couldn’t tell him to stop. I don’t know how.”

“I know,” Frank said. 

“I’m scared, Frank.”

“Why are you scared?”

“If I go to sleep, I won’t wake up.”

“Yes you will, Sweetheart. Get some rest. I’ll…be back soon.”

“Is your dad okay?”

“Yeah. Mom exaggerated a little when she called me. He’s… They’ll release him soon, and when they do I’ll come back. He wants to meet you.”

“Are we still dating?”

“Of course,” Frank whispered. 

“I’m sorry. I never meant for it to get this far.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Frank said, knowing that later would probably never come, and if it did it would probably be a fight. 

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Gerard said, starting to cry. “I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t mean to. I thought about you every time—the whole time. I wanted to be with you, but I wanted him to be my friend.”

_If you actually thought about me, you wouldn’t have done it,_ Frank thought, feeling the first bit of bitterness hit him.

“I know,” he said, biting back that annoyance. “I know… We’ll talk about it later.”

“I’m scared—I don’t want to fall asleep. I won’t wake up if I do.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because it’s dark when I close my eyes,” Gerard whispered.

“You’ll be okay. You’ll need sleep if you’re gonna feel good enough to sing tomorrow night.”

“I don’t want to die,” Gerard cried. “I don’t want to die, Frank. No one’s here. I’m all alone.”

“Where’s Mikey?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know.”

There was another voice on the other side of the phone and Frank was almost certain that it was Mikey saying Gerard wasn’t by himself. 

The voice _definitely_ belonged to Mikey. Frank could hear him telling Gerard he needed to get off the phone and sleep.


	16. Melting in Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written mid-panic attack so if it's jumpy and skippy and not as flowy as usual, I apologize.

_Chapter 16_

Frank sat across from his father at the diner where Frank had spent so many years working before the band. As soon as their meal was done, Frank would stop by his mother’s house to say his final goodbyes and then go to the city to catch his flight out to Texas where his band had ended up. He’d gotten his father tickets for one of their final shows in New York, a night when they would have time afterwards to hang out and do proper introductions. They would be in the city for a few days with a hotel, so if Gerard was too drunk to make a good impression the first night, he could try again the next. 

“Here anything from your band lately?” His father asked before take a sip of his coffee. 

“Yeah, Ray called me last night after their show.”

“How are they doing without you?” His father asked, his tone implying he thought they would all be lost causes by now without him there to keep everything together.

“Apparently Gerard fell on stage and threw a tantrum about it, and…he got in a fight with my stand-in which doesn’t surprise me—”

“Sounds like a drama queen,” his father said, picking at his breakfast. Frank had forced him to order something healthy even though his father insisted he wanted to eat bacon and fried eggs. 

“He is,” Frank said, giggling a little. “For the most part it’s harmless, but I don’t like the idea of him getting mad at the temps. We’re lucky to have them and not have to go without a rhythm player because I’m not there.”

“You really want to spend the rest of your life with someone who can’t go a week without causing trouble when you’re gone?”

“Gerard causes trouble whether I’m there or not. He’s harmless, Dad. If I couldn’t handle it, I never would’ve stayed with him this long.”

“I don’t mean to tell you how to live your life, Frankie. You know I don’t mean that—but this guy, he’s cheated on you, he’s throwing tantrums, he’s a drunk—”

“He only drinks like that on tour. He doesn’t do well with stress.”

“Give him all the excuses you want, he doesn’t treat you right.”

“Well, you don’t know him,” Frank said, trying not to get defensive. Now that he was out of the hospital and in better health, his father was acting like his old self again and Frank didn’t appreciate it.

“So what did he do to this replacement player?” His father said in a dismissive tone as if he actually thought he was changing the subject.

“Apparently our manager put them in a hotel room together and Gerard…his brain is fucked up. He started telling people they might be able to put this guy on stage, but he wasn’t me and he doesn’t get the right to sleep in the same room as him…”

“You’re only in the hotel for, what, a night or two at most? He can’t put up with it for a night?”

“Gerard’s scared of other men. He doesn’t see it as being made to share a room with someone inferior to him, he sees it as a threat.”

“Maybe he should learn self-defense. What’s he going to do if something happens to you? What if you stage dive or something and you fall flat on your neck and can’t walk? You’re not going to be there to protect him then.”

“I worry about that all the time,” Frank said, taking a deep breath. “The thing about being with Gerard—you’re probably going to think I’m weird for saying this, but here it goes: The thing about Gerard is that I have to see him like my kid, you know? Like he needs protected and looked after. But then I also have to see him as my boyfriend and make sure he’s… _taken care of._ ”

“You can explain this relationship to me a hundred times and I’m never going to understand it, Frank.”

“Yeah…” Frank laughed a little and focused more on his plate of food. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard wasn’t in the hotel room when Frank arrived, and that in and of itself felt like a kick in the gut. After a terrible flight where he’d gotten sick repeatedly—maybe from food poisoning, maybe he was sick—and then being stuck in traffic, all he wanted was to see his boyfriend and get a hug. Now he had to wonder where Gerard had gone and why none of the guys had told him they were going out. 

Frank set his suitcase down on the floor and sighed heavily, not bothering to unpack because they only had the hotel for tonight. 

He took out his phone and sent a text to Ray, asking if they were still around and was actually surprised when he heard a door open down the hall before there was a sharp knock on his door. Frank stood up and answered it, trying to fake a smile for Ray but unable to do it. He still felt sick to his stomach. 

“Where’s Gerard?” Frank asked.

“He didn’t tell you?” Ray asked, looking confused. 

Frank sighed heavily and went to sit down on his bed with his head in his hands. “Tell me what? Tell me _what?_ ”

“That he had a doctor’s appointment? He’s at a clinic in town getting checked out to make sure his ribs are healing right and that Bert’s guys didn’t…you know, fuck anything up too bad. He should be back soon.”

“No, he never fuckin’ told me that,” Frank said, sighing again and lying back.

“You okay?”

“I got sick on the plane. I couldn’t stop puking. It was _awful._ ”

“Shit… I hope you’re okay to perform tonight?”

“I’m gonna play. I’m here, I’m playing. I just need Gerard to be here, too.” 

“He’ll get here,” Ray said, coming to sit down next to his friend. “Is your dad alright?”

“He’s fine. How’s Gerard doing?”

“Whiny,” Ray said, laughing. “He apologized for going off on your replacement. He and Mikey had a talk about it. Gerard was a little drunk and he thought Brian was trying to move the temp into the band and push you out.”

“Yeah, I could see him getting that idea. So did he share a room with that guy or…”

“No. I traded rooms with him. Gerard and Mikey shared a room.”

“Anything else happen that I should know about now?”

“Not really. Gerard’s been sticking close to Mikey so he hasn’t had any real issues. He’s not even drinking as much as he was on the last tour. I mean, he still drinks too much, but getting away from Bert for a little bit seems to have helped a lot.”

“Has Bert come around at all after that?”

“Yeah…he called Gerard in the middle of the night last night, but Mikey answered and put an end to it. Bert’s been pissed. He really thinks Gerard was cheating on him with you.”

“Well, in a way he was,” Frank said, covering his face with his hands as he groaned through his discomfort. “I still feel so fuckin’ sick right now.”

“Frank, you don’t _have_ to go on tonight. It’s one show. If you push yourself, it’ll just make it that much worse.”

“I want to perform… I miss the stage and it’s not fair _my_ fans. I have fans too. It’s not just Gerard. People pay to see me…I should be there.”

“Yeah, but they don’t wanna pay to see you vomit on stage or die on it.”

“I just need some water,” Frank said, making himself sit up and go into the bathroom to fill one of the complimentary paper cups with water. 

While he was still getting a drink, leaning over the sink in the bathroom, Frank heard the door to his hotel room open and couldn’t help but feel his spirits life, even if it was just a little.

“Why are you in here?” Gerard asked. 

“Frank’s in the bathroom,” Ray said. “I was just coming by to hang out til you got back.”

Ray had hardly finished his sentence before Gerard burst into the bathroom and knocked Frank hard against the counter with the force his embrace. He wrapped Frank in his arms so tight that Frank couldn’t even breathe, even when Frank started slapping at him arm in an attempt to get his boyfriend to let him go—not because he needed air, but because he was about to be sick. 

Gerard barely released him in time, and Frank felt against the toilet heaving up all the water he’d drank until his head came to rest on the bathroom floor.

“Frank? What’s the matter? I didn’t mean to push on your stomach,” Gerard said, going immediately to Frank’s side and stroking his hair. “Sorry… I was just happy to see you.”

“It’s fine,” Frank panted, trying to catch his breath. “How was the doctor’s visit?”

“Fine,” Gerard said. “Can I get you anything? Do you want some medicine? I got a lot of medicine from the doctor.”

“For what?” Frank asked, sitting up and going back over to the sink to drink more water. 

“Pain and motion sickness from being in the van all the time. Are you okay?” Gerard gently put his hand on the small of Frank’s back as Frank swallowed cup after cup of water. 

“Ugh, got sick on the plane. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I felt fine this morning.”

“Are you… You don’t have to play tonight if you’re not—”

“I’m here, I’m playing.” 

“Okay,” Gerard said, pulling back a little.

“What did the doctor say?” Frank asked, taking a cup of water with him into the bedroom so he could lie down. Ray was already gone, and once Gerard realized they were alone he made a point to lie close to Frank on the bed, though not close enough to touch. 

“Ribs are still broken,” Gerard said. “Still hurt.”

“And?”

“But they’re healing so I guess it’s fine.”

“Anything else? I heard he beat you pretty bad.”

“Nah. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” Frank asked, turning his head to look Gerard in the eyes. 

“Nothing, Frankie. I’m fine.” But he didn’t look fine. He looked upset.

“What? Gerard, just tell me. I don’t feel good. Don’t make me beg.”

“It’s nothing…”

“Gerard, _please._ ”

“I mean, it doesn’t mean anything for _us._ I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If it bugs you, it bugs _us._ Just tell me.”

Gerard sighed and moved to sit up. He looked conflicted, but mostly devastated. Frank wanted to sit up too and offer him comfort, but even the slightest of motions caused him extreme nausea. 

“When they beat me up…they kicked me in the junk a lot—like _a lot_ a lot. And the doctor said…that my sperm count is low and I probably can’t have kids because of it.”

“Can’t have kids?” Franks repeated. “Well, we can’t have kids together anyway—but Jesus Christ. How many times did they hit you?”

“I don’t know…” Gerard still looked genuinely unhappy and Frank forced himself to fight the nausea and sit up to be on his level. 

“Hey… Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Frank rubbed Gerard’s back and kissed him on the shoulder, wanting to show affection but afraid to kiss Gerard on the mouth and make him sick. “That had to hurt really bad, huh? And I wasn’t there for you…” 

“It’s my own fault,” Gerard mumbled. “It’s stupid. I don’t have a reason to get upset about it. I _know_ we can’t have kids so what does it matter if I’m sterile?”

“Do you…want to have kids?” Frank asked. “I mean, we can’t together—and now’s not a good time—but we could…look into adopting or a getting a surrogate.”

“If we had a surrogate it’d just be yours…”

Frank quirked a brow and slowly laid back down, starting to feel like he might throw up again. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Sweetheart,” Frank said softly. “Did the doctor give any…solutions or treatments you could look into?”

“Not worth it,” Gerard mumbled. “We can’t have kids anyway. I’d be a shit father.”

“Don’t feel that way, Gerard. Anyone can be a parent if they want to… If you want to start a family…” Frank let out a heavy sigh and stared up at the ceiling. He was in no condition to be having this conversation, and he was so afraid he’d say something Gerard would hold against him in the future. “We can talk about it when we’re not on tour.”

Gerard laid down beside Frank again and held his hand. His body heat, even from the small contact, was enough to make Frank start gagging again but he managed to keep his water down despite his stomach’s attempts to expel it. 

“Are you sure you want to perform tonight? I don’t want you to need to go to the hospital too,” Gerard said quietly. 

“I’m going. I’m not…gonna leave you there without me.” It was hard to think straight and Frank squirmed as the bed beneath him started to feel as if it too were burning. “I want to keep you safe from…Bert and those guys. I’m gonna keep you safe.”

“I love you, Frank,” Gerard whispered.

“Love you more,” Frank mumbled, glad Gerard hadn’t bothered to tell him Frank was useless at keeping him safe when he couldn’t move his hands without gagging. 

“I’m gonna get you a cold cloth, okay?” 

“Okay,” Frank whispered, sighing as he felt Gerard climb off the bed. Seemingly seconds later, Gerard returned and placed a cool, damp cloth on Frank’s forehead. 

“How’s your dad doing?”

“Fine,” Frank whispered, starting to feel woozy. 

“You want me to stop talking?” Gerard asked, his tone gentle and understanding.

“Should sing to me,” Frank mumbled. 

“What song?”

“I don’t know,” Frank whispered. “A soft one…”

Gerard hummed quietly, thinking up a tune before he settled on a gentle ballad Frank didn’t recognize. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank woke with a start, gasping and peering around at the darkness. The hotel room was pitch black and the alarm clock beside the bed was dark—unplugged. Frank felt around on the mattress beside him, but Gerard was nowhere to be found. He let out a soft whimper and felt the cloth still on his forehead, now turned hot from the heat of his fever.

His throat burned as though he’d swallowed acid, every time he moved a throbbing pain rocketed through his skull. Frank whimpered softly and rolled onto his side, reaching for the bedside lamp but knocking it over in his dizzy haze. When it smashed onto the floor, Frank let out a little cry of surprise and then pulled himself out the bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, but fell before he could reach the light switch, smacking his head on the counter as he did so. 

Frank cursed and clutched at his head, feeling blood. He groaned and went back to searching for the lights. When he finally switched it on, he realized his mistake and covered his eyes—burning from the light. His headache immediately became worse and Frank started gagging, hardly giving him enough time to reach the toilet before throwing up more spit and water. His clothes were clinging to him with sweat, and even after Frank stripped off his shirt and jeans he still felt too hot. 

Despite the tremors that overwhelmed his body, Frank took off the rest of his clothing and turned on the shower, squinting through the bright lights. As soon as the cold spray of water hit him, he started to feel relief. Unable to really support himself, Frank leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. 

The icy water felt so pleasant and Frank tried to focus on it instead of the throbbing in his head and the sting in his throat. After a while, though, his knees started to shake under the weight of his body and Frank allowed himself to sink down onto the shower floor, propping himself up by the shoulder and letting the water rain down on his face. 

( ) ( ) ( )

No sooner had Mikey and Ray stepped into their room than they heard Gerard start shouting—again. He’d been in a bad mood since they’d pried him away from Frank who had finally fallen asleep. 

But when Gerard burst into the room and grabbed onto his brother around the shoulders and started crying, his two bandmates shared a worried look. 

“What’s wrong?” Mikey asked, trying to pry his older brother off his chest. “What?” When Gerard didn’t say anything, Mikey glanced at Ray and inclined his head toward the door, silently telling Ray to go check on Frank. 

Ray took a deep breath and hurried into Gerard and Frank’s room. He could hear the shower running and turned his head toward the bathroom door. Right away he saw what had scared Gerard so badly. There were smears of blood on the floor and the bathroom counter, even on the toilet seat and smeared on the white shower curtain.

“Frank?” Ray called. When he heard nothing, Ray swallowed hard and reached for the shower curtain. He took a few seconds to prepare himself and then pulled back the curtain. There was more blood smeared on the wall of the shower, trailing down to the floor where Frank lie with his head propped against the wall, a laceration on his forehead still leaking blood despite the spray of water striking against him. “Frank?” 

Ray leaned down a shook Frank’s shoulder. When Frank didn’t respond, Ray slowly moved his hand to the bend in Frank’s neck, feeling for heat or a pulse. As soon as he pushed down, Frank’s eyes snapped open and he flinched.

“What the fuck, man!?” Frank groaned, slapping Ray’s hand away before falling back against the shower wall. 

“You passed out,” Ray said, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel from the rack next to the wall. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” Frank growled, wrapping the towel around his waist and getting shakily to his feet. “Am I bleeding? What the fuck…”

“Are you okay?” Ray asked again.

“I feel like shit—you guys went to the show without even waking me up first?”

“That’s all you’re worried about right now?” Ray asked, shaking his head before ducking out of the bathroom and calling for Mikey. When he didn’t hear anyone coming, Ray went back into his hotel room where Gerard was still clinging to his little brother panicking because ‘someone murdered Frank.’ “Guys, Frank’s fine. He passed out in the shower.”

“Hear that?” Mikey asked, patting Gerard one last time on the back and then pushing him off his chest. “Frank’s fine.”

“There was so much blood!” Gerard cried, looking to Ray with doubt as though he expected Ray to be lying. 

“You should go ask him,” Ray said, grabbing Gerard’s arm and guiding him back to his own hotel room. 

When he got there, Frank was already lying in their bed, holding a washcloth to his head to stop the bleeding and taking small sips from a cup of water. 

“You left without telling me?” Frank said as soon as Gerard came in the room. “Why are you crying?” 

“I thought someone killed you,” Gerard said, holding his hands over his mouth as he stared at Frank. 

“No. I just hit my head. I feel like shit.”

“Can I…can I help? Can I do anything?” Gerard asked, creeping closer to the bed and sitting on the edge. 

“Might wanna clean up the bathroom,” Frank mumbled. “Can you get me more water?” He held out the cup to Gerard who happily took it and hurried into the bathroom, side stepping the blood, to fill it up. 

Gerard hurried back and handed the cup to Frank. He offered Frank a small smile and then reached up to take the cloth away from Frank’s head in order to see his wound. 

“What did you do?” Gerard asked, looking to Frank with pity and replacing the cloth.

“I told you. I hit my head. I feel _awful._ ”

“There’s a gas station down the street. Do you want me to go get you anything? I could…I could get you something for your fever.”

“Some lozenges for my throat would be great,” Frank said.

“I’ll go then…do you have money?”

“In my pants pocket,” Frank said, watching as Gerard carefully stepped back into the bathroom and returned with Frank’s wallet. “If you go, take Mikey or Ray with you. I don’t want you walking around alone. And wash your face first, you’ve still got your make up on.”

“I’ll take a shower after I get back,” Gerard said, kissing Frank on top of his head.

“Okay,” Frank said, finishing his cup of water and handing it back to Gerard with a somewhat bashful smile. 

Gerard took the cup and refilled it again before ducking out of the room and asking Mikey to walk with him down to the gas station. When Mikey refused, insisting he wanted to take a shower not go on missions for Frank, Ray offered to go in his place. 

When they got to the gas station, Ray helped Gerard to pick out a fever reducer from the small selection, as well as mentholated throat drops and bandages for his head. Gerard picked out a bottle of fruit juice for Frank that was rich in all kinds of vitamins and nutrients, but when he tried to settle on a flavor he ended up buying three bottles. 

He expected Frank to be asleep when he got back, but instead Frank was watching late night television and sipping from his cup of water. 

“Hope you feel better, Frank,” Ray said before ducking out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

Gerard crawled across the bed, holding the bag of juices and medicine awkwardly as he did. He kissed Frank’s cheek—the side that didn’t still have streaks of blood on it—and then pulled the bottles of juice he’d bought out of the bag.

“I didn’t know what you were more in the mood for,” Gerard said. “They’re supposed to be really healthy.”

“Did you get anything for my—oh, there it is,” Frank said, reaching into the bag to pull out the fever reducers. He handed the bottle back to Gerard to open it and then picked out one of the juices, uncapping it himself and taking a drink before Gerard handed him two of the tablets which he swallowed with ease. 

“Is your stomach still upset?” Gerard asked.

“Not so much now. I just have a headache.” Frank laughed when he said it and pointed to the cloth still soaking up blood. 

“I got some bandages if you want…”

“Maybe later when I’m going to sleep. Don’t want to the hotel staff to see all the blood in the sheets and think we’re sacrificing virgins or something.”

“I’ll clean up the bathroom,” Gerard said, looking over at the smears of blood still on the floor. “I just wanted to make sure you got your medicine and…were feeling okay.”

“Aw—you take such good care of me,” Frank said, grinning. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t want to make you sick.”

“I won’t get sick,” Gerard said. “I’ll drink one of these and I’ll be fine.” Gerard picked up one of the bottles of juice and then leaned forward for a kiss. Frank smiled at him and leaned forward as well, keeping the kiss gentle and brief. 

“I love you, Sweetheart,” Frank said.

“I love you too,” Gerard said, kissing Frank’s cheek again and opening another one of the bottles of juice. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“M’kay,” Frank said, smiling as he finished half the bottle of juice. “You should get me another cold towel for my neck.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, wasting no time hopping up from the bed and getting a wet cloth. Shortly after giving it to Frank, Gerard set to cleaning up the blood from the bathroom floor and counter, but found that the blood on the shower curtain was there to stay. 

Meanwhile, Frank nestled down on the bed with his wet cloth pressed to the back of his neck, thinking—as he popped one of the mentholated cough drops into his mouth despite the awful mixture of tastes—that he could very easily get used to being treated like this.


	17. Lights Out

_Chapter 17_

Even before they went on stage that night, Frank was still in his weakened state from the night before. He had to interrupt his aid as she tried to help him with this makeup twice to throw up, and then laid down as soon as he was in full costume. Gerard hovered close to him, bringing him water and even paper towels from the bathroom wetted in cold water. The makeup artists and several of the other female aids backstage started whispering to one another about how sweet it was that the frontman of the band was showing so much concern for his guitar player. The men started whispering that the two looked like fags. 

Gerard had to have overheard, but he paid no mind to the whispering swirling around them. He focused on Frank solely, stroking his hair, changing the towel on his forehead, bringing him bottle after bottle of water and holding back the long stands of his hair as he threw the water back up onto the floor, unable to reach the trash.

“Frank, you don’t have to play tonight,” Gerard whispered, wishing he could do something more for his lover, but not even able to really touch him. Whenever his skin lingered too long on Frank’s, the body heat ended up making Frank feel worse. 

“I do too have to play tonight,” Frank moaned. “I have fans too. They want to see _me_ play. They paid to see me play so…I’m gonna play.”

“Frank, you’re already overheating and you’re not even under the lamps yet. It’s going to be hell out there for you.”

“If you can sing with broken ribs, I can play guitar with a fever.”

“It’s not just a fever,” Gerard mumbled. 

“I’m fine, Gee. I’ve gone to work at the diner feeling sicker than this and those shifts were eight hours, not one and a half.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m fine,” Frank said before immediately rolling over and throwing up more water onto the floor. 

( ) ( ) ( )

It was hard enough getting himself on stage most nights, but after watching Frank retch and gag until he could barely stand up had Gerard more terrified than usual. He did his best to keep his energy up for his fans, trying to stay in the mood. Frank played one song standing up, and then laid on the floor to play the next two, barely moving any more than it took to strum his guitar. 

They had two songs left before a brief intermission—time to grab water and recheck the levels on all the equipment—and Gerard was going to use that break to ask Frank to leave the stage. It upset him to see Frank so sick. The fans paid to see a show, not see Frank lying down. 

Those fans could misunderstand. They could think him drunk or lazy or just bored… He wasn’t going to let Frank, ill, weakened, exhausted Frank, be mistaken for being lazy. 

Trying not to focus on it too much, Gerard introduced his next song, turning his eyes toward Frank who was lying on his back, cradling his guitar and gagging. Gerard shook his head, making a show of wiping the sweat off his brow before giving the cue to start the song. Even though Gerard wasn’t the best at interpreting and understanding the technicalities of the guitars and the music backing his vocals, he could still tell that Frank’s playing was several notes behind the others. 

Then he was playing in the wrong key. 

Gerard kept sending him worried glances but was too afraid of what the repercussions might be if he stopped singing to check on Frank.

Ray was already working his way over to their side of the stage, trying to move in a way that didn’t call too much attention—but Gerard was already aware of the audience noticing something was wrong. A fair amount of the people in the front of the crowd were craning to see Frank where he lie on the stage. 

For a moment, after Ray reached his side, Frank’s playing got a little better. They key was right, the notes were all there, but his movements were slower. Ray stopped playing for half a second to lean down by Frank—daring to do what Gerard couldn’t and ask Frank if he was alright. Frank made a dismissive gesture and actually kicked out his leg until Ray went back to his own side of the stage, picking up the song without fault.

Halfway through the song, Frank started slipping again. First slowing down further, then slipping out of a key, then his guitar let out a shrill noise like a dying scream and then went silent. He looked over to see Frank lying limp, one arm on the floor and the other draped over his guitar. In the seconds after Gerard noticed, Ray was immediately at his side, saying loudly in his ear—but careful to miss the mic—that Gerard needed to finish the song. Frank would be fine, but Gerard needed to finish the song. 

It felt like torture. Gerard couldn’t take his eyes off of Frank but he forced himself to sing out the last half of his song which seemed to stretch on for hours. As soon as the final word was out, Gerard wasted no time on theatrics and hung up his mic before going to Frank’s side. Two techs hurried onto the stage as well and started trying to pull him up. 

Gerard pushed one of the techs away, instinct telling him that they wanted to hurt Frank—that they were going to take him away and hurt him. Frank was completely unconscious, his entire body drenched in cold sweat. He couldn’t protect himself and Gerard wasn’t about to let anyone take him away.

“Gerard, let them help,” Mikey said, appearing at Gerard’s side and holding him back when Gerard tried to push the techs away again. “Let them help. Frank will be fine.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Let them take him, Gerard,” Mikey said, much more firmly before pulling Gerard back up to his feet and shoving him back toward his mic. “Tell _them,_ he’s fine, and get ready for the next song. His replacement is already prepped to come on stage.”

Gerard watched helplessly as the techs carried Frank off stage, one of his arms over each of their shoulders as they made it look as though Frank moved of his own free will with their help—not like he was a lifeless corpse. As soon as he was gone, Gerard was forced to focus on the crowd. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank came to slowly, groaning as his body throbbed with pain. His eyes hurt, his throat _really_ hurt, his head was pounding and he felt the need to throw up but didn’t feel like he had enough energy to roll over and cough up what was left in his stomach from earlier. 

His body, however, no longer felt like it was burning hot and when he opened his eyes he saw that he’d been stripped of most his outfit save for his shoes, jeans, and undershirt. There was a wet cloth on his forehead although it felt hot to the touch, and bags of melted ice were pressed under his armpits. 

Frank rubbed at his eyes a final time and tried to get up from the bench he was lying on. He was back in the green room, but no one else was around. He couldn’t remember if he’d been on stage or if they’d yet to go on…and with everyone gone he was starting to fear the concert was over and everyone had left without him.

As soon as he was on his feet, Frank’s balance started to waver and he began to feel even worse. All the heat came rushing back to his body and his vision became swimmy before he could think to sit back down. He started retching again, and as soon as he doubled over, his knees collapsed and he smacked his forehead into the floor.

He felt truly awful and couldn’t help it when he started to cry. It felt as if his skin were on fire and no matter what he did, nothing would put it out. Even lying on the cold, stone floor was only relaxing for a moment. Then the stone became hot and he had to roll over, and every time he moved he felt the need to vomit even though there was nothing left. 

Frank even tried stripping off his shirt in an attempt to cool down faster, but nothing worked. There was a bottle of water on the floor by the bench where he’d been lying and Frank crawled toward it. He forced himself to swallow a mouthful and then dumped the rest over his body, desperate to get cool. 

“Frank? Frankie! Come here, it’s okay—here, let me help!” 

Before Frank even knew who was talking to him, he felt himself being forced to sit up and lean against the brick wall. When he finally got his eyes to focus, he saw Gerard’s worried face mere inches from his own. His stomach gave another lurch and Gerard backed off just in time to avoid having Frank throw up the mouthful of water he’d taken earlier. 

“Don’t cry, Frank. We’re gonna get you help, okay? Hang on. I’ll be right back, baby. I won’t leave you—I’m gonna be right back.”

As soon as he’d appeared, he’d disappeared and Frank slumped back over onto the floor, sobbing as his body started to shake as if cold. It was unfair that his body thought it was cold when he felt like he was burning to death. 

Frank let out an indignant scream, the aches and pains in his body becoming too much to bear as his stomach tightened again. The only thing that came up was spit and a sob. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard refused to budge no matter how many times the doctors or nurses asked him to go wait in the other room. He stayed close to Frank—if not at his bedside then looming in the corner as he waited for the nurses to finish hooking his lover to IV bags and oxygen—and did his best to ignore the repeated requests for him to leave. He’d only been in the ER about an hour before he was placed in a shared room of the hospital (although the other bed in the room was empty). His condition was serious and he needed rest. Not only did have a severe case of the flu, he was also extremely dehydrated and the doctors were worried that he might develop more issues—sinus infections had been mentioned, and so had pneumonia.

They were afraid Gerard would get sick if he stayed around, but Gerard was willing to take that risk. He had been late when Frank arrived from the airport, he’d left Frank alone when he’d been sick the first time causing him to fall and cute his forehead, and he’d let strangers take Frank off stage only to dump him in the green room where he got sicker and sicker. He couldn’t leave Frank on his own again. Frank had _always_ been there for him, and Gerard wanted to prove he could return that favor. 

He would be there when Frank woke up. Whether he was sitting there for hours or days. He wasn’t going to get up for anything. Not _anything._

It scared him so much to see Frank lying there. He’d never seen Frank in a hospital before. Frank had _never_ been this before and Gerard couldn’t help but feel it was in some way his fault. It was the stress of the tour and the band—all the things Gerard had pushed for them to have. If he’d just let them have their life back home where Frank worked in the diner, none of this would’ve happened and Frank wouldn’t need to be hooked up to oxygen or hydrated through a needle in his arm. 

“I’m here, Frankie,” Gerard whispered when Frank let out a low whine. “I’m here.” He touched Frank’s hand but was afraid to hold it, knowing how uncomfortable the heat had made Frank earlier. 

Frank’s brow furrowed as if he were in pain and Gerard reached up to push his bangs out of his face—wanting an excuse to stroke his cheek with the backs of his fingers. Frank’s eyelashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed closed. Gerard wanted him to wake up, just so he’d know he wasn’t alone, but knew that Frank needed sleep and that the doctor had pumped him so full of meds he probably wouldn’t wake up until the next morning. 

“We’re gonna get you better, Frank,” Gerard whispered. “You don’t have to worry about thing. I’m gonna…I’m gonna make sure no one comes in to hurt you and keep you safe.” He kept speaking softly to Frank even though he didn’t think his boyfriend could hear. He told him that they cancelled a couple shows so Frank could get better and they wouldn’t leave him behind to keep touring. He told Frank that he’d been so brave in going on stage even when he was sick, and that he was proud of Frank for being so tough even if he’d blacked out mid-show. 

Gerard still hadn’t moved or slept, even when the sky outside the window had turned a shade of cyan instead of black. By the time the sun came up, however, he’d fallen asleep with his head lying next to Frank’s hand on the bed.


	18. Can't Care to Worry

_Chapter 18_

For the first time, Frank no longer felt as if he were melting in his own skin. He was cool, but not cold, and he could feel the absence of sweat on his skin. His throat still hurt, though, and there was a twinge of pain in his head but not nearly as unbearable as he remembered. 

After trying for a few moments to pull himself awake, Frank’s eyes flickered open. The room he was in was bright—sterile bright—and Frank squeezed his eyes against it. He expected his headache to get worse, but it didn’t, so he tried again to open his eyes and this time managed to make out the shape of a white, brick wall in front of him. 

He blinked a few more times before he was able to open his eyes completely. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, suddenly feeling something pressing into his face. His hand twitched, but when he tried to move it, it felt as though it was being weighed down. 

Shaking his head back and forth, Frank forced himself to focus harder on what was going on around him. He was in a hospital. He knew that much. There was an IV in his right arm and a heart monitor clip on his finger. 

When he turned his head he realized he was also hooked up to oxygen—and he wasn’t alone. Even though his bedside visitor was sitting in a chair beside his bed with his face buried in the white sheets, Frank recognized Gerard—he could recognize Gerard anywhere. 

He tried to speak, but his throat was raw—almost feeling swollen—and Frank’s eyes started to water from the pain. He groaned softly and twitched his arm, realizing the reason it felt so stiff was because Gerard was lying on it. 

Frank kept twitching and jerking his hand until his boyfriend finally stirred. Gerard looked at first confused, and stared down at Frank’s hand sleepily. Then his head jerked toward Frank and a forced, worried smile spread across his face. 

“Hey—Hey, Frankie,” Gerard said, reaching out and stroking Frank’s cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

Frank shrugged and then nodded when Gerard started to look worried. 

“You scared me. Do you remember last night at all? You passed out on stage.”

Frank wasn’t surprised. He’d felt terrible all day yesterday. Now he realized just how stupid he was to push himself to perform. Had he just stayed in the hotel again he probably would’ve gotten better instead of ending up in the hospital. 

“Do you need anything? Some water or maybe… I don’t know. They said you were really dehydrated. Do you still feel nauseous? Do you not want water?”

Frank nodded, not quite sure if he could speak or how it would sound with the oxygen mask over his face. 

“You…you do? Or you don’t?” Gerard asked.

Frank sighed and nodded his head again.

“Yes?” Gerard asked, looking nervous and uncertain as if afraid he’d make Frank mad because he didn’t understand. 

Frank nodded and Gerard smiled.

“Okay. I’ll get you a cup of water.”

Frank relaxed against the mattress as Gerard left to get him the water. It seemed to take an eternity for Gerard to return, and in the time alone Frank began to feel worse and worse. He wanted to go back to sleep, but when Gerard returned there was a nurse with him and Frank knew he wouldn’t get off that easily.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard stayed obediently at Frank’s side, holding his hand even when the nurses and doctors bustled around, helping him to get up to go to the bathroom, fetching him water whenever he asked. He didn’t care if he caught Frank’s flu. All that mattered was he was there to offer his support and comfort Frank whose throat was still bothering him the most.

The doctors said he’d gotten a sinus infection as well—as if he weren’t suffering enough—and though they’d given him a nasal spray and lozenges to help with the burn, Gerard could tell Frank was uncomfortable. They watched TV for a little while before Frank fell back asleep. Ray brought Gerard some food near dinner time, but Frank didn’t awake for a meal. Even when Gerard tried shaking his shoulder when the nurse came with a hospital meal for him, Frank didn’t stir. 

Gerard was made to leave Frank’s side for a little while to answer questions for the media who all professed to be “very worried” about Frank. Gerard told them what the doctors had told him—Frank had a bad case of the flu and developed a sinus infection, but he should be back on his feet in a couple of days. When they asked if the band was going to rejoin the tour while Frank was in the hospital, Gerard told them no. Frank was an important member of their band and he couldn’t imagine playing another show without him. 

When asked to give his opinion of Frank’s decision to go on stage despite being sick, Gerard managed to say something he hoped sounded profound—detailing that that performance was the epitome of the kind of man Frank strived to be. He gives his everything at his shows and never wants to disappoint the fans, willing to put his own health aside for the fans to get their money’s worth. Wasn’t it reckless? Hell yes. But also selfless, too. Frank just didn’t want to let anyone down…

After the reporters finished with him, Gerard went back to Frank and stroked his hair as he slept and held his hand. The nurses kept urging him to leave, but Gerard insisted that he wasn’t getting sick from being close to Frank and no one could deny the light in Frank’s eyes when he woke up and saw Gerard beside him. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank wasn’t really prepared for it when it came time to get back in the van and rejoin the tour. He was feeling better, but his throat was still sore despite all the medication the hospital had given him. His fever had finally gone away and he no longer had headaches which was the biggest relief. Without the headache, he didn’t have any nausea. For the most part he was back to normal expect for the awful cough he’d developed. 

Gerard had started to get something of a cough too, but he tried hard to hide it. He’d stayed next to Frank so long during the stay in the hospital, and Frank wasn’t surprised at all that he’d gotten sick as well. Frank couldn’t help but be reminded of that every time Gerard would stifle a cough—reminded that Gerard was sick because he’d strictly _refused_ to leave the room in fear that Frank would wake up alone.

Frank had never had Gerard show him that much love in their entire history together. Typically if Frank got sick back before the tour, Gerard would be kind at first but would eventually get irritated that Frank wasn’t paying enough attention to him or take care of his needs. It wasn’t always that way, but most of the time it was. So to have Gerard put everything aside, not even letting the band continue touring, just to sit at Frank’s side until he got better was incredible. It was amazing.

It made Frank so fucking happy that he spent the most of the ride in the van pressing kiss after kiss to Gerard’s neck and chin and temple and lips. If they weren’t kissing, they were holding each other and cuddling close all the way across three states to the venue where they would perform the night after next. They got to stay in a hotel and before going to bed, Gerard and Frank walked together to the gas station down the street for drinks and snacks. 

For the first time, Frank was able to actually talk about his visit home and show Gerard the pictures he’d taken of Bear and Pig who had both gained a significant amount of weight while staying with Frank’s mother. 

It was as though they were the only two people in the world. Since the other bands wouldn’t reach the venue until the next morning, the press wasn’t creeping around looking for them. More than once on their walk Frank pressed a quick kiss to Gerard’s cheek, and on their way back they held hands. When a person drove by and heckled them, Gerard reacted no more than to roll his eyes and then kiss Frank on the mouth.

When they got back to the hotel room, they spread the snacks and bottles of soda out on the bed like children at a sleepover party and gossiped together in a way they hadn’t in a long time. Gerard mumbled a few “secrets” about Mikey he’d been let in on since Frank had gone home to visit his father, and Frank told Gerard a few stories from his life back in high school of all things.

Once most of the chips and candy was gone, Gerard started scooting closer and closer on the bedspread until he laid with his head in Frank’s lap. Frank smiled down at him and stroked his hair, laughing a little when Gerard blew a kiss to him.

“Did you ever get bored just sitting by my bed?” Frank asked.

“No. I watched you sleep,” Gerard said, smiling and grabbing one of Frank’s hands. He squeezed it and then started playing with his fingers. “You’re cute when you’re sleeping.”

“I had an oxygen mask on for, like, three days,” Frank said, giggling.

“Yeah, but you were still cute.”

“You didn’t have to stay the whole time,” Frank said, smiling because they both knew Gerard had only stayed because he saw how happy Frank was when he woke up to see him.

“Yeah, but you looked so helpless. I couldn’t leave you by yourself. Someone might’ve hurt you.”

“You were gonna keep me safe?” Frank asked, grinning and poking Gerard on the tip of his nose. 

“Yeah. I would’ve fought off zombies if they came, Frankie. No one was gonna hurt you.”

Frank giggled and leaned down to kiss Gerard on the lips, not at all surprised when Gerard grabbed back of his head and kept him pinned, making him stay in the uncomfortable, hunched over position so their lips couldn’t part. After a moment, Gerard rolled over so Frank wouldn’t have to keep leaning over. He crawled over Frank’s hips, kissing him deeper before straddling Frank’s hips and draping his arms over Frank’s shoulders. 

Frank leaned back against the pillows, letting Gerard get on top of him, pressing kiss after kiss onto his lips, jaw, and neck until Frank let out a low moan and rutted up again him. 

“Mm, you wanna be on top, baby?” Frank moaned, grasping Gerard’s shoulders as his boyfriend sucked on the skin of his neck. 

“Whatever Frankie wants,” Gerard purred, nipping Frank’s ear and sending sparks of pleasure all up and down his spine, making the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end. 

“Frankie wants Gerard to do what he wants,” Frank whispered. Gerard rewarded him with a deep, pleased moan. 

“Wanna be on top,” Gerard moaned. “Wanna take good care of you.”

“Yeah?” Frank panted, kissing whatever part of Gerard’s head he could reach until his boyfriend lifted his head so they could kiss on the mouth. 

“Fuck yeah,” Gerard whispered, moving his lips to Frank’s neck and sucking until he got Frank to moan loud and hard. 

Gerard kissed him chastely on the lips one last time before leaning back and pulling off Frank’s jeans and boxers, everything down to his socks as Frank took off his own shirt—and then Gerard’s. As Gerard took off his own jeans, Frank got up to get the condoms and lube. When he returned to the bed, Gerard grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back onto the bed, pinning him down and attacking his throat with his lips and teeth until Frank was screeching out moans of mixed pleasure and pain. 

Frank wrapped his arms around Gerard’s shoulders, holding him close and working hard to steal a kiss on the lips. Still sucking at Frank’s tongue, Gerard moved him to the center of the bed and placed Frank’s legs on either side of his hips. He uncapped the lube and quickly poured some over his fingers, and in his haste slipped two fingers in at once extracting a loud, screamed moan from Frank.

Almost immediately after, there was a loud pounding on the wall against which their headboard was pressed.

“Knock it off! I don’t want to hear you guys fucking!”

Frank burst out laughing and covered his face which had turned bright red at the sound of Mikey’s aggravated voice. Rather than showing similar shame, Gerard’s face took on an almost crazed—pleased look—as he smirked down at Frank, his fingers still buried deep inside him.

Without responding to Mikey in any verbal way, Gerard started working his fingers in and out, and curling them until he struck against Frank’s prostate, forcing him to let out another deep moan. 

Like before, Mikey pounded against the wall.

“Knock it off! I’m not fucking around!”

“Gerard, maybe we should—oh!” 

Gerard pressed against his sweet spot again and again until Frank couldn’t even try to stifle his moans. And when Mikey started pounding on the wall, Gerard started moaning, too—loud and fake and obnoxious until Frank was laughing in between his moans. 

“Stop! Fuckin’ stop! If you’re gonna fuck put on the radio so I don’t have to hear it!”

Gerard let out another fake moan, making it shriller and shriller as he faked an orgasm, moving the fingers he had in Frank’s body in time with his sounds. 

“Gerard! I don’t want to hear it!” Mikey yelled. “I don’t want to hear my brother get laid! Fuckin’ stop it!”

Then Ray joined on.

“Frank, make him listen to you please. I can’t take hearing Mikey screaming in my ear.”

“Gerard, come on,” Frank said, laughing until he felt Gerard add a third fingers. The feeling of stretching and burning cut his breath short and he couldn’t even get out a moan. He just squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get his body to relax. 

Gerard, however, kept up with his fake moans whenever he wasn’t laughing at the distress of his little brother.

“I’m gonna come in there and kick your ass!” Mikey yelled, punching the wall again and again until Frank managed to reach over and turn on the radio of the alarm clock on the nightstand. At first there was just static, but he managed to tap the dials enough to get a frequency playing rock. He turned it up until Mikey stopped banging and then grabbed Gerard by the head, smashing their mouths together and moaning as Gerard started thrusting the three fingers a little faster.

“Want you—want you so bad,” Frank moaned, spreading his legs further to accommodate Gerard as he hastily extracted his fingers, rolled on a condom, and then slicked himself with lube. 

“Love you so much, baby,” Gerard said, kissing Frank on the mouth one last time before he started pressing inside. Frank’s head fell back against the pillow as he let out a quiet moan, easily overwhelmed by the sounds of the guitars blasting through the speakers of the clock alarm. 

Frank was unable to echo the words back to his partner as the mixed pleasure-pain shot up his spine, causing his back to arch. Gerard pressed all the way inside and then rested there a moment, moaning and letting his hips twitch in an attempt to get deeper. Frank squirmed under him, desperate for more contact—knowing they wouldn’t have another chance to be together like this for a long while. 

When Gerard finally started setting up a pace, Frank kept one arm wrapped around Gerard’s shoulders and wound the other in his lover’s dark hair. He would kiss Gerard on the mouth, hot and heavy, whenever he could get the chance, and when he couldn’t he would fix his lips to Gerard’s throat or neck. 

Frank had to angle his hips on his own in order to get Gerard in the right position to strike his prostate with each thrust. But once their positions were right, Frank’s moans became faster, higher-pitched—all bleeding together as white stars flashed behind his eyes. 

He finished faster than he cared to admit without Gerard ever even having to give his erection a single stroke. Frank kept his hands fixed to Gerard, even as his body started to shake from the oversensitivity and aftershocks. He wiped the sweat off his face onto Gerard’s shoulder while clinging to his lover whose moans finally also grew shrill, competing with the loud trill of the guitars on the radio. Frank tried to focus solely on those sounds, wanting to memorize them and play them over and over in his mind for the rest of his life. 

When Gerard finished, he dug the nails of one of his hands into Frank’s shoulder and drew blood—unable to scratch Frank’s back as he always did. Frank wrapped his legs around Gerard’s waist and held him close, not ready for Gerard to pull out—not wanting to feel empty or alone. He pressed kiss after kiss on Gerard’s shoulder and nuzzled his neck until Gerard pried Frank off of him in order to kiss him softly on the lips.

“I want us to stay like this,” Gerard whispered, sounding so frail under the sounds of the blasting rock on the radio. As if finally becoming aware of the sound, Gerard leaned over to switch off the radio before settling back down in Frank’s arms.

“Me too,” Frank said, kissing Gerard’s chin and wrapping his arms around Gerard’s shoulders again. “I don’t want to let go…”

Gerard hummed and buried his nose in Frank’s hair, breathing in his scent as well as the smell of sweat and sex. 

“I want to stay here,” Frank mumbled, kissing Gerard’s neck again and again. He felt vulnerable, and cold—he didn’t want Gerard to pull away so much as a centimeter. 

“Me too,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank on the temple and slowly relaxing his weight down onto Frank’s body, ready to go to sleep.


	19. The Last thing I See

_Chapter 19_

It felt good to be back on stage again, and after two shows, Frank finally felt as though he were back in the groove of things. He couldn’t do much for backup vocals at first because his throat was still irritated, but he could play just as well as he did in good health and that was all that mattered. For the most part he was able to keep up his energy as well, only playing a few songs lying down when he started to feel overheated. Gerard continued to take care of him as well, making sure he drank a lot of water before and after the shows, and even coaxing him into taking drinks on stage between songs (and giving him dirty looks for the duration of the next song if he refused). 

After a week, Frank could almost say he never felt better. He had a runny nose when he was playing that he really hoped didn’t end up in pictures all over the internet, but he could sing again and didn’t have to lay down unless he did something to hurt himself while proving that he owned the stage. 

In that time, too, Gerard never failed him. There were some night when Gerard got too drunk and needed babysat after the shows, but even then he was nowhere near as bad as it used to be when he’d been with Bert…

Bert who kept a cold, watchful eye over them whenever they were backstage together. Frank would catch him every now and then staring—glaring—in their direction, either standing with his bandmates or sometimes even talking to his backup players who seemed to be nearly as obsessed with him as Gerard had been when the tour first started. Frank didn’t remember seeing the backup players around during the first half of the tour at all, and couldn’t help but wonder where they’d come from…and if they were the ones who’d beaten up his boyfriend on Bert’s behalf. They seemed dedicated enough to him, but Gerard refused to say whether or not those were the guys.

He didn’t want Frank to know. He didn’t want Frank to have to worry about it, he said. What happened was a result of his own doing and he didn’t need Frank to feel obligated to clean up the mess or send some sort of message to them that Gerard wasn’t theirs to toy with. 

Frank did his best to listen. Gerard had a point. What happened was between him and Bert—and Bert’s asshole friends—but it still felt wrong to stand idly by while they hovered around like vultures. Frank couldn’t stand feeling the eyes on him. He and Gerard couldn’t talk or touch much backstage, but even the gentlest of touches to the shoulder were withheld when those guys started watching them. It made Frank too nervous. If anyone was going to blow the whistle on his and Gerard’s relationship to the media, it was bound to be either Bert or his backup guitarists. 

At their twelfth concert since Frank had rejoined the tour, Gerard slipped off with Mikey while Frank was still getting makeup done—insisting that they were going to find somewhere to smoke a cigarette even though Frank knew something else was going on. Either Mikey was pissed off and needed someone to vent to before going on stage, or Gerard was upset and didn’t want to “burden” Frank with it. Frank tried not to make much of it. 

Gerard had survived well enough on his own when Frank had been gone and when he’d been in the hospital, so if he had something he wanted to talk to Mikey about over him, Frank wasn’t going to push the issue. It concerned him a little when Gerard still wasn’t back after Frank’s makeup was finished, but he tried not to dwell on it. They’d already had their sound check and there was close to two hours left before they were due on stage. 

Frank looked around for Ray or Bob, but found Bob to be preoccupied talking with one of the sound techs, giving pointers and talking about which equipment was really better for the price. Ray, Frank discovered, was talking to a female stagehand who kept giggling at everything he said. Ray seemed to enjoy the conversation as well, and was laughing just as much as the girl. Frank made a mental note to tease Ray about it later, but in the meantime left him to his vices and started wandering around aimlessly through the venue. 

If he wandered too far in one direction or another, one of the employees would politely—and almost bitterly—push him back in the direction of the stage. Only one was explicitly rude about it and insisted he didn’t need Frank or any of his friends hunting out places to hook up or shoot up in his building. 

Tired of all the commotion inside, Frank chose for a while to sit out back by the service entrance far enough away from the front doors that the fans couldn’t see him or steal pictures. He was able to stay there unbothered for about half an hour, but then the door behind him swung open and Bert, Quinn, and his backup band stumbled out, laughing until they noticed Frank.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Bert muttered, all of his humor gone as soon as his eyes lit upon Frank. “Shouldn’t you be off with Gerard somewhere? Suckin’ his dick?”

“Fuck off,” Frank hissed, getting up and quickly abandoning his spot on the stairs. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Bert, he didn’t want to talk to Bert or even have Bert talk to him. They’d both been wronged by Gerard, but Bert had been the one who’d put marks on his boyfriend. Whether Gerard had asked for it or not, Frank couldn’t forgive Bert for it. Bert had no way of knowing what kind of person Gerard really was, but anyone who could harass a person until he caved to whatever was asked of him was no good person in Frank’s eyes. He’d read their text messages. He knew the kind of person Bert was under all that charisma and hype. 

“Yeah, you’d better run!” Someone called after Frank as he wandered off into the parking lot. His goal was to go sit by their van until it was close to the time to go back. He wanted to be alone. Not harassed by Bert or stagehands. 

“Too chicken to face us like a man?” Another person hollered. One of the backup performers Frank guessed, not recognizing the voice at all. 

Frank started to walk a little faster when he started hearing footsteps behind him, not willing to actually run away from anyone. He may have been small, but he wasn’t _pathetic._ If they decided to try to jump him, Frank was sure he’d get a few good hits in before the group took him out. 

He heard Bert call for his guys to leave Frank alone, but then heard his friends tell him they were just gonna have some fun and Bert had nothing to worry about. Bert, having no concern at all for Frank’s wellbeing (and why should he care about his ex’s cheated lover?), said nothing else—or if he did speak, Frank couldn’t hear him. 

As soon as he had rounded one of the larger busses in the lot, Frank started running, hoping to avoid a fight if it came down to it. There was no one out here expect the occasional driver or long band member getting high, and if something went wrong Frank doubted they would come to intervene. His plan had gone from standing near the van to sneaking back into the venue. Hell, he’d brave the mob of fans to get through the front door if he had to. The guards would seize him and escort him in before too long, and Frank would rather be crushed with love and obsession over drugged up hatred and over-energized boredom. 

“Look! Look, there he is!”

Frank cursed and risked taking a look over his shoulder. First one and then two figures slipped around one of the busses—then two more joined in. When they saw Frank they too started running and try as he might, Frank couldn’t lose them no matter how many times he slipped between the busses and vans. 

“Hey! Whatcha runnin’ from?”

“Yeah, you scared?”

Their words were echoed by malicious laughter and Frank felt like he were back in middle-school, about to be beaten up again by the football team. Part of him doubted they would actually do anything to him. They were just backup performers. If he waged a complaint with the tour manager, the guy would be fired on the spot. 

But these were the same people who beat Gerard so bad his ribs had been broken…among other things. If they had the balls to beat up the frontman of a band, what would stop them from kicking the shit out of a mere guitar player?

And Frank couldn’t wage a complaint if he were dead.

“Shit,” Frank swore, looking around for a narrow space he could duck into to hide. The guys were too close to him for him to be able to hide under one of the busses the way Gerard had done and Frank knew they would pull him out. And he would be on the ground already at that point, ready for their kicks to the head.

Frank wanted to avoid ending up on the ground as much as possible. 

“You really think you can run?” One of the men called as Frank started weaving in and out of the vehicles again. He could hear the guys from behind him, but felt that he had enough distance between him and the men to chance a look back again. 

He didn’t see them in the row of vehicles and started to feel a little safer. The building was getting closer and Frank felt he would have a good chance of reaching it. Frank made a mental note not to let himself go wandering off on his own for a while. At least not while these assholes were still on the tour with them.

But then, just as Frank entered the last row of busses before the break in the lot between vehicles and the venue building, one of the men stepped out in front of him and sucker punched him in the mouth. Frank’s plan to avoid ending up on the ground for as long as possible was foiled, and he hit the ground almost immediately, covering his mouth with his hand. He ran his tongue along his teeth to make sure he hadn’t lost one, and was surprised when they were all still intact. His lip, however, was split and oozing hot, coppery blood. 

“The fuck do you _want!?_ ” Frank snapped, stumbling back onto his feet only to be shoved and hit the ground again.

“You think you can fuck with Bert and get away with it?” The voice didn’t come from the man in front of him, but rather from behind him. When he turned his head to look, the other three members of the group appeared from between the busses behind him.

“I never fucking touched Bert!” Frank spat, trying once again to get back on his feet. Before he was even completely standing, he started getting shoved back and forth between three of the men before getting punched in the back of the head and ending up on all fours on the ground.

“You stole his little fanboy—”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Frank yelled, trying to sound as forceful as possible as he struggled to get back up. His efforts were wasted when a firm kick handed on his ribcage, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him choking on the ground. 

“You can’t go around stealing people’s property you know,” one of the men said, sending another sharp kick to Frank’s side as he rolled onto his back. 

“Not his property,” Frank gasped, trying to roll into a ball to protect his ribs from the kick he knew was coming. This time, however, it was directed at his head. 

“Say that again?” One of the men boomed. Frank knew better than to speak, but when another foot collided with his back, Frank knew he would be taken out regardless—and he wasn’t about to go down quietly.

“Bert doesn’t fucking own him!” His words were cut off with a cry of pain as he was kicked repeatedly in the back until he rolled over and opened up his chest and his face to more blows. He heard a sickening crack milliseconds before an awful pain shot through his face and when his hands finally reached his face it was soaked in blood, his nose broken. 

“You and your shit band act like you own the place. You think you’re hot shit? You’re nothing! Without Bert sticking his neck out for your fuckin’ band and that little slut, you wouldn’t have even made it this far!” 

They kept yelling, but Frank only made out half of what they said between the crushing pain as their feet and fists struck him wherever they could reach. Sometimes his ears would ring loudly and he couldn’t hear anything at all—not even his own cries of pain and screams. All he ever made out were words denouncing him and his bands, insults directed toward Gerard—the slut—and insults directed at himself—the thief, the one who stole Bert’s boytoy from him.

Why did they care so much about who Bert fucked? If Bert only ever told them Gerard was his boytoy, what did it matter if Frank took him back?

Then, when Frank felt himself being dragged instead of kicked, he realized it had little to do with Gerard at all. The men were all spitting at him about his band and its attitude—and the attitude of all the bands. It wasn’t their so called allegiance to Bert or defending Bert’s honor after Gerard had somehow managed to tarnish him. It was about violence. It was about backup players who were angry that they weren’t in the bands, that they weren’t getting the celebrity treatment. Instead of being excited to hear these men play the instruments they loved, the audience was disappointed. The backups were the stars. 

And they were about to take it out on Frank just like they’d taken it out on Gerard. They’d broken his ribs, probably trying to make it so he couldn’t sing. Frank’s goal was no longer to try to escape, but to keep his hands protected. If they broke his fingers or his wrist, he couldn’t play. He would be out of the tour and Gerard would either quit to be with him or the band would go on touring without him. Leaving Gerard defenseless.

Frank let out an earsplitting scream as he was kicked in the back again. His back arched against the force and the pain, and that was when he heard one of the men bark to his friend, “Grab his legs.” In a matter of seconds, Frank found himself pinned on his back and no matter how many curse words he spat or how hard he thrashed against them, he was trapped and there was nothing he could do.

One of the men stepped over Frank’s body, standing with his feet on either side of Frank’s stomach, and then stooped down—putting all of his weight on Frank’s abdomen making it hard to breathe.

“We’re gonna teach you a lesson,” he said, staring down at Frank’s face. 

“Fuck you,” Frank grunted, trying not to whimper as the feeling of utter helplessness settled in. 

“Such tough words…for such a tiny little man,” the guy said, laughing before spitting in Frank’s face. As soon as Frank had shaken the spit along with a spray of blood off his nose and cheeks, he felt something cold being pressed to his neck. He didn’t need to see it to know what it was. “Make a sound and I’m gonna slit your throat.”

Frank told himself over and over that he wasn’t going to do it. Assault was one thing—a guy could talk himself out of jail time for assault—but murder was another. He wasn’t going to murder him. This guy _wasn’t_ going to murder him. He would get caught!

“Don’t think I’ll do it?” He asked, his voice a mockery of kindness. “Maybe I’ll just cut something else, huh? Like maybe…your wrist?”

Immediately, the blade went from his throat, to one of his arms which was being held against the pavement with the foot of one of the other men. Frank didn’t even have time to think the man was all talk and no action. As soon as the blade reached him, it sliced his skin through the fabric of his shirt and after the sharp sting, Frank’s arm became warm as blood bubbled up and spilled. 

“People find you like this…they’re gonna think you did it to yourself. Especially with all those fucking crybaby emo songs you sing.”

Frank leaned his head back against the pavement and moaned. The cut didn’t feel deep enough to make him bleed out, but it was dark and he couldn’t see it. Even if it looked like suicide, the police would still know he’d been murdered. No one beat himself up and then slit his wrists. But maybe this guy was too stupid to realize that. Maybe he didn’t care if he went to jail for murder—maybe he had someone else in mind to pin it on. 

“Hold his arms steady,” the guy said, looking up to his friends, then he said to the one pinning Frank’s legs, “Move.”

Frank tried to kick at them the instant his legs were freed, but when he felt the blade of the knife stab straight into his gut his eyes snapped wide and all of his body tensed at once. The pain was immense and burning. He remembered when he’d been working in the diner—when he’d been stabbed by a robber and a gun had been at his head. Even that day he’d been naïve enough to think he would get out alive. 

This time, Frank knew he would never be that lucky.

( ) ( ) ( ) 

Gerard paced back in forth in the greenroom, fisting his hands in his hair and letting out growl after growl of fear and frustration. Frank was missing and they were due on stage in less than forty-five minutes. He’d looked _everywhere._ Bob and Ray had looked everywhere. Even _Mikey_ was looking around and asking if anyone had seen Frank or heard him mention going somewhere. 

Gerard kept calling Frank’s cell phone, but it rang and went to voicemail every time. Every single time. And Gerard was starting to become afraid that that voicemail message was going to be the last he ever heard of Frank’s voice. 

“Hey,” Ray said, coming into the greenroom and putting a hand on Gerard’s shoulder.

“Did you find him?”

“No, one of the techs said he saw Frank throwing up in the bathroom again not too long ago.”

“But he’s not sick!” Gerard yelled. “He hasn’t felt bad in days. Why would he be throwing up?” Gerard asked, not wanting to remind Ray that they had searched all the bathrooms. 

“Maybe he’s drunk,” Ray said, looking like he completely believed this news even though they’d _searched_ all the bathrooms. “He’s finally off his medication so he can drink again, so he probably got a little too eager.”

“Frank doesn’t drink that much,” Gerard said, fisting his hands in his hair again and moaning. “And we _checked_ the bathrooms!”

“Maybe he went outside for some fresh air,” Ray said. “Come on. We’ll go look for him.”

“Fine,” Gerard said, unable to shake the fear that had taken up roost in his chest. Frank wasn’t sick. He _knew_ Frank wasn’t sick…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank felt the tears running down his face, mixed with blood, mixed with spit, mixed with other awful things. He didn’t have enough energy to scream. All he could do was let out choked, high-pitched moans of pain as the man over top of him drove himself deeper and deeper into Frank’s body. There was still a blade pressed to his throat, but Frank had given up the will to fight by the time the first of the men had finished with him. 

He tried so hard to disassociate from what was happening. He stared past the face of the man smirking down at him and stared at the dark sky. The pain grew worse and worse, all swirling together until his body was mostly numb. He could feel nothing but the pain. He didn’t feel the blade, he didn’t feel the hands grabbing him or the rocks scratching his back and hips as he was violated. 

He wanted to fight harder to get away, but couldn’t see the purpose. They wouldn’t let him go. He was going to die here and the thought tore him apart more than the repetitive, violent act being performed on his body. 

All he’d ever wanted was to help one person—be dedicated to one person and make sure that one person was okay no matter what. He’d bought Gerard all those years ago. He protected him and loved him and supported him in any way that he could. So why was God angry with him now? Why was he being punished?

Had he not been sincere enough when he comforted Gerard after the night terrors? Should he not have rescued Gerard that night? Did God want Gerard to be killed that night and Frank interfered? Was that why this was happening? 

Frank felt more tears fall down his cheeks and closed his eyes against them. Seconds later he was slapped and the man over top him was whispering in his ear that he needed to open his eyes and see what a real man looked like. He was told to open his eyes or they would be cut out. Slowly, Frank obeyed, having no doubt that the man would follow through on his threat. 

Even with his eyes open, Frank’s vision was far from clear. He saw a plane go by overhead, it’s lights slowly blinking a bright green.

Frank liked green. Gerard’s eyes were green in certain light… 

Pain shot up his spine, blotting out every peaceful thought Frank had in his mind as the man finished and pull out. He could hear the men arguing, but their voices were muffled as they argued about what to do with Frank now. 

Two of the four had already raped him, and one was insisting now that he wasn’t a faggot. He didn’t want anything to do with Frank. But his friends wouldn’t accept that. He needed to help “put him in his place” even if he couldn’t get it up for a man. 

He settled for pissing on Frank’s face instead of raping him, and when Frank tried to squirm away he was kicked between the legs three times—hard and rapid—until he started sobbing again and laid still. 

It wasn’t long before Frank felt someone else get between his legs and the nightmare started all over. 

His legs were starting to go numb, not even feeling the pain, and Frank tried to focus on that numbness, willing it to claim the rest of him. He had a feeling it was because of the blood he had lost, and he hoped—as his eyelids became heavy and started to droop despite the screams around him and the blows to his face—that death was coming. 

For whatever he’d done, he was sorry. He was so, so sorry… If he didn’t love Gerard enough, if he didn’t show it well enough, if he hadn’t been there for him at his worst, Frank was sorry. If he could go back, he’d do it better. If he could go back, he would’ve bought Gerard without haggling. He would’ve paid five-grand for him and never made that stupid comment saying Gerard wasn’t even worth five hundred bucks because he bites. He would’ve consoled Gerard more. He would’ve put up with his temper better…let him give kisses when he wanted to give kisses. 

Frank felt his arms go cold next and almost smiled when his vision became darker and darker. The man on top of him was still thrusting in hard, but Frank couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel it! It wasn’t pain blocked with pain, it was nothing! There was _nothing!_

If the pain stopped, that meant he’d been forgiven, right? That God was sparing him and it was over? 

He knew that the numbness meant death, but that was okay. It was okay if he died just so long as Gerard wasn’t the one to find him. 

Though if Gerard were to come find him, maybe after all the men finally left, Frank bet he would be gentle. Maybe stroke Frank’s hair despite the grime, maybe hold his hand until it was time to let go. 

Frank felt a tear work through all the blood and filth on his face and splash on the pavement. He didn’t want to let go.


	20. Asleep//Dead

_Chapter 20_

Gerard was angry. Angry they’d gone on stage without Frank. Angry they’d _made_ him go on stage without Frank. He didn’t care if someone said they saw him throwing up in the parking lot—Frank _wasn’t in the parking lot._ Frank was missing and _no one_ knew where he went. Frank was _missing_ and no one fucking cared until it was time for them to be leaving and everyone just wanted to go.

“We’ll find him,” Ray said, even though he didn’t sound convinced so much anymore. 

“We shouldn’t have gone on stage,” Gerard growled. If anything happened to Frank, every minute counted and they’d been on stage for two hours—and who knew how long Frank had been missing before then with so many random people claiming to have seen him. 

“Let’s split up, okay? You and Mikey can look in here, and Bob and I will search outside okay?”

“I’ll go outside with Bob,” Mikey said. He’d been irritable since their walk earlier in the day and he and Gerard had argued. 

“I’m not going outside,” Bob said.

“Okay. So, you and Gerard look in here, and _I’ll_ go with Mikey outside,” Ray said. “Frank’s gotta be somewhere. If he got sick, he probably wanted to find somewhere cool to lie down and he might’ve just fallen asleep.”

“Or fallen down the stairs and died!” Gerard snapped. It pissed him off so much because he loved Frank and he wanted to know where he was and he wanted everyone else to care as much as he did. He wanted to see _them_ panic so he didn’t look like the irrational one. 

“We’ll find him, Gerard. Just calm the fuck down,” Mikey said. 

“You calm down!” Gerard yelled. “Frank is _missing!_ How the fuck do you expect me to _sit_ here and be calm!?”

“Come on,” Ray said, tapping Mikey on the shoulder and leading him out of the room. 

“Let’s go,” Bob said. “We’ll find him. I know a few places upstairs he might’ve gone that we didn’t check yet. It’s air conditioned up there for the computers and equipment. If he got too hot, he’s up there.”

“You think so?” Gerard asked, not having enough strength to wage an argument against Bob.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey didn’t want to admit it to Gerard, but he was worried as well. It wasn’t like Frank to just disappear, and when he wasn’t near the van when he and Ray checked outside, Mikey had a sinking feeling that they weren’t going to find him at all. There was a chance he’d gotten on someone’s bus to drink or sleep, but someone would’ve mentioned it to them by now. All the artists and musicians denied seeing him. It was only the techs who hardly knew what Frank looked like who claimed to have seen him walking around. 

“Mikey, how about I look around the parking lot, you can look near the venue,” Ray said. He sounded doubtful too, and discouraged. He’d tried calling Frank’s phone, but it merely rang and then went to voicemail. They’d listened at the van and searched to see if he’d left it behind, but it hadn’t been there. The phone was gone and Frank was gone with it. 

“Alright. Call me if you find anything,” Mikey said, heading back toward the venue. 

He walked along the perimeter of the building, even going so far as to squeeze between a fence and the brick wall meant to keep people away from the generators. He searched between all of the humming steel boxes, but Frank was nowhere to be found. 

Mikey kept going, squeezing between the fence and wall on the other side of the generators and rounding the opposite side of the venue building. On this side there was scattered trash and dumpsters near a back service entrance much like the one on the other side close to the parking lot. Instead of space for parking on the other side of the venue building, there was nothing but cracked up pavement and weeds. 

With a heavy sigh, Mikey took his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped through to Frank’s number. He hadn’t picked up for anyone else, but Mikey thought he’d try on the off chance Frank might hear this time and answer.

Mikey kept walking as he pressed call and put the phone to his ear. He let out a heavy sigh as he listened to the ringing. Then, as he walked past one of the dumpsters he heard something vibrate and stopped in his tracks. It was the final ring and the phone went to voicemail, and Mikey quickly hung up and pressed redial. Almost instantly he heard the vibrating again, in synch with the ringing coming through his phone’s speaker. 

“Fuck,” Mikey whispered, moving closer to the dumpster and swallowing hard as he rounded the corner of it to reach the side with the heavy, plastic lid lying closed over the top. Again, the phone went to voicemail. Mikey put his cell phone back in his pocket and reached up to lift the lid on the dumpster, scarcely lit by the orange glow of the lamp by the back door. 

He leaned up to look inside, and had to use the light from his cell phone screen in order to see anything more than orange highlighted shadows. As soon as he shined the blue glow into the mouth of the dumpster, a swatch of white stood out amongst the black bags of trash. Mikey squinted through the dark to get a better look, but fell backwards as soon as he made out the shape of an arm—the white being the sleeve of a white shirt. Like the button down Frank was supposed to wear on stage. 

After stammering out a few curses, Mikey forced himself to look again. Maybe he’d seen it wrong. Maybe it was just a white trash bag…

But that wouldn’t explain the phone.

Mikey looked inside again and held his cell phone a little lower. This time Mikey was unable to mistake the shirt for anything else. It was ripped up and dirtied, but it was Frank’s shirt—and it was Frank’s body stuffed in the dumpster like trash.

“Shit,” Mikey cursed, backing away and holding his phone tight. He may have disliked Frank—hell, he might’ve even hated Frank at one point or another—but he never wanted the guy to turn up _dead._ He owed his big brother’s life to Frank. 

Shaking, Mikey turned his phone’s screen back on and called Ray. 

“Hey, any luck?” Ray asked.

“Um… Shit, Ray. I need… You need to come here. I’m… I’m on the other side of the—the building.” It was so hard to speak, like his mind—still rejecting the idea that Frank was dead—refused to form the words. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Just come here. You… You have to get through the fence by the generators—”

“Shit. Did he get electrocuted? Is he okay?”

“Just come here! _Please!_ And don’t…don’t tell Gerard. He can’t…” 

Can’t what? Can’t know? Can’t see? They weren’t going to be able to hide it from him forever. Eventually the cops would come, then the press—and then it would take one photo from one member of the press and it would be all over the news and Gerard wouldn’t be able to avoid it if he tried.

“Okay—Okay. Try to… Try to stay calm. By the generators you said?”

Mikey kept spitting out directions, trying to focus on the noises coming from Ray’s side of the phone to distract himself from the vibrating of Frank’s phone as Gerard or someone tried to call him again. 

When Ray finally reached him, he took one look at the dumpster and his face dropped as he too realized that if Frank was in there it was doubtful he was still alive. 

“Is… Is he—”

“I don’t know,” Mikey muttered.

“You don’t know? Didn’t you check?”

“No, I didn’t check, okay!? I didn’t want to jump in there and _crush_ him. I can’t _see_ in there!” 

“Christ, don’t yell at me!” Ray snapped, fisting his hands in his hair for a minute before hurrying to the dumpster and pushing Mikey aside in order to climb up onto the ledge, barely able to balance himself. “Give me some light! I don’t want to step on him!” 

Mikey lit up his cell phone and held it over the edge of the dumpster, lighting up Frank’s face—his bloodied, gruesome face. Ray carefully stepped down into the dumpster and lit up his own phone, using it to make sure he wasn’t standing on any part of Frank’s still body. His phone started ringing again, buzzing against the wall of the dumpster and lighting up more of Frank’s pitiful face. 

“Is he breathing?” Mikey asked.

“I don’t know!” Ray snapped. He sounded like he was close to crying, and he shook his hand a few times as if to rid it of the tremors which had seized him before reaching out to feel for a pulse. “Shit—Oh, shit.”

“Is he—”

“I don’t know—I don’t know! There’s so much fucking blood… Call 911.”

“Should we get him out first?” Mikey asked.

“Just call 911!”

“Jesus Christ, fine!” Mikey pulled back his phone and called for the police. He gave their location and only managed to say that they’d found their friend hurt, shoved in a dumpster. He couldn’t say what happened, and when he tried to pass the phone to Ray, Ray pulled away from him and focused more on Frank. 

He kept feeling for a pulse or for heat. Frank’s body was cold, and it was hard to feel anything other than the shaking that rattled Ray’s hands. His body wasn’t stiff, though. It was lithe and he tried to tell himself that that meant Frank was alive. He’d been missing so long. If he was dead, surely his body would’ve become stiff. Right? Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work?

“They said not to move him,” Mikey called. “If his back is broken or…if it’s a crime scene then we can’t—we can’t move him.”

Ray didn’t _want_ it to be a crime scene. What had Frank ever done to deserve this? He just wanted Frank to twitch, his eyelashes to flutter or for him to cough or cry or whimper—just make a _sound._

Ray stayed there in the dumpster, absently wiping the blood off Frank’s face with the sleeve of his shirt, until the cops and the paramedics came. The officer in charge practically had to pull Ray out of the way as the paramedics swarmed in. 

Seconds passed like hours before Ray heard one glorious sentence shouted out over the steel walls of the dumpster.

“We have a pulse!” 

The medics lowered a gurney and a neck brace into the mouth of the dumpster. Ray tried to keep watch over Frank while answering the officer’s questions. When they lowered the gurney onto its rolling stand, it must’ve jostled Frank’s body because he let out a quiet noise and Ray immediately turned away from the officer in order to go to Frank’s side. 

“Frank, you’re gonna be okay,” Ray said, fussing with his hands to keep himself from touching Frank after the paramedics slapped his hands away. 

Frank was staring up at the sky, looking right past Ray and continuing to make low, pained noises.

“We’re getting you help,” Ray repeated, moving with the paramedics as they started pushing the gurney toward the ambulance. “Can I ride with him? He’s my best friend.” Ray asked.

The paramedics looked to the officers, one of whom nodded, and then allowed Ray to climb in beside them as they got Frank into the back of the ambulance. Frank was still staring up at the ceiling, whimpering and blinking rapidly as tears rolled down his cheeks. The paramedics tried getting Frank to speak to him, but all Frank could do was emit little, strangled cries. 

Then he started to make noises like words and the paramedics leaned in to listen.

“Fa…ther.”

“Father?” The paramedics repeated, looking to Ray as if for clarity.

“You…you want me to call your father?” Ray asked. 

Frank didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling and started to mumble more words from between his split lips. 

“Heaven,” he whispered, choked with a sob.

“Heaven?” Ray asked, grabbing Frank’s hand and squeezing it tight. Frank’s fingers didn’t even twitch from the contact. He continued to stare up at the ceiling of the truck. Frank mumbled to himself more, quieter and broken up as he cried from pain. 

Then Ray realized Frank wasn’t just muttering to himself—he was choking out the words to a prayer. 

“No—No, Frank! Frank, don’t start praying. You’re gonna be fine. You hear me? You’re going to be _fine._ ” Ray squeezed Frank’s hand a little harder, but instead of showing signs of being comforted, Frank closed his eyes and kept whispering the Lord’s Prayer to himself and went back to sleep.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” Gerard screamed, throwing whatever was in arm’s reach at his little brother. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh!? You let them take him!” He said, throwing a water bottle at Mikey’s head. “Without _me!_ ” Threw a makeup bottle. “Frank is _my_ boyfriend! He’s _mine!_ No one _touches_ him without me there!”

“Gerard, he wouldn’t have wanted you to see that!” Mikey yelled, ducking when Gerard chucked a notebook at him. “Jesus Christ, would you stop it! _Stop it!_ ” Mikey couldn’t believe it when his brother grabbed a chair—an actual fucking chair—and threw it at him. Mikey hardly had the chance to move out of the way and the back of the chair struck him in the knee painfully.

“You should’ve called me! You should’ve called _me!_ That’s _my_ boyfriend. Don’t you get that? He’s _my_ boyfriend! If he dies, I’m not there!” Tears finally showed in Gerard’s eyes as his sorrow came through his mask of anger. “I won’t be there for him! He’s gonna die and I won’t get to say goodbye.”

Gerard sank to the floor and covered his face, crying. Mikey dared to go near him, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. 

“You let Ray go with him but not me… I love Frank more than Ray does.”

“You didn’t need to see him like that,” Mikey repeated.

“They threw him in the dumpster like garbage. _My_ Frank… Like _trash._ ”

“Just…try not to think about it. Once Bob gets back we’ll go to the van and we’ll go to the hospital.”

“He’ll be dead by the time we get there,” Gerard whimpered. “I knew something was wrong. I _knew_ it and you made me go on stage. I wanted to find him. We could’ve found him, Mikey. He could’ve _lived._ ”

“He’s going to live, Gerard. He’s…he’s gonna be fine.”

“Why didn’t you let me see him?” Gerard cried, covering his face still and weeping. “I don’t care if he looked bad. He’s my _partner._ My _partner,_ Mikey! We’re supposed to _be there_ for each other, not…not leave each other alone to die.”

Bob came back in the room then with the tour manager who told them which hospital Frank was staying in. He offered to drive them in their van since it was obvious that they were all very upset and didn’t know the area, and after they’d all piled inside Gerard’s fit of hysteria only got worse and worse. By the time they reached the hospital parking lot, the tour manager had to bluntly say if Gerard acted that way inside the staff was going to ask him to leave and if Frank did take a turn for the worse, Gerard would most definitely not be allowed in to see him. It seemed to work for the most part, and Gerard remained unhappy but less vocal about it as they went inside. 

Almost immediately they were ushered out of the general waiting room and placed in a small, quaint sitting area where Ray was already waiting apart from the other visitors to avoid any unwanted attention. The reception nurse told them that the doctor would be by soon to give them an update on their “friend.”

Gerard ranted to himself for a long time about “friend” and how he was sick of everyone thinking Frank was just his “friend.” Their tour manager stared at him the whole time, finally realizing that the closeness Gerard and Frank had wasn’t just for show or the product of staying in such close quarters. 

If Frank died, Gerard muttered, he would tell everyone the truth about them. He would sooner be damned, he said, than let one more goddamned person tell him they were sorry to hear about his “friend.”

Finally, after nearly an hour, the doctor came by and Gerard fidgeted in his seat as if debating whether or not to stand up to greet him or stay seated in case the bad news pulled his knees out from under him.

“How is he?” Ray asked after watching Gerard stammer for a moment, unable to form the words he needed. 

“His condition’s not yet stable, but we were able to close up most of his severe injuries—”

“What… What happened to him?” Gerard asked. Ray glared at him, wishing Gerard cared more about what could be done over what had been done to him. “No one’s told me anything except that they found him in the trash.”

“His list of injuries is very substantial. He has broken ribs, a broken nose, multiple lacerations, but the worst was a stab wound to his abdomen. The blade missed most of the major blood vessels, but did perforate some internal organs—”

“ _Some?_ ” Gerard asked, the blood draining from his face.

“We _were_ able to operate to stop the bleeding and repair the internal damage, but it’s still touch and go at this point. We’re getting him a transfusion now to help with the blood loss, and then if we can get him in more stable condition he needs some more treatment for more…internal injuries.”

He was holding something back and Gerard knew it, but he couldn’t even begin to imagine what. More internal injuries? Had he been stabbed more than once? Were his organs _falling out?_ He felt so far out of touch with what was happening that it was hard for him not to disassociate all together. It was all so much…but he couldn’t let himself slip away now. Not when Frank needed him. 

“Can I see him?” Gerard asked.

“Right now we don’t really want him to have any visitors—”

“Please. I… If something goes wrong I want to see him _alive._ ”

“Gerard, stop,” Ray said. “His room is sterile. That’s why they don’t want visitors—so he doesn’t get an infection.”

“So I’ll wear a fuckin’ hazmat suit. I just want to see him,” Gerard cried. 

The doctor looked them over and then sighed and shook his head.

“If you can go wash up a little in the visitors’ bathroom, I’ll have a nurse bring you back.”

“Thank you,” Gerard said, getting up quickly and wandering off in the direction he hoped would lead to the bathroom.

( ) ( ) ( )

He was pale. So pale. Making the purplish blotches of blood on his top and bottom lips that much more prominent. There were dark bruises on Frank’s cheeks, and the cut on his forehead he’d gotten when he’d fainted in the bathroom all those days ago had been reopened, sealed now with butterfly bandages. He had a large splint on his broken nose, and thick blood had congealed around his nostrils. 

His wrist was bandaged, but dark bruises stood out on his skin, peeking out from the gauze. 

“Hi, Baby,” Gerard whispered, carefully grasping Frank’s other hand—the one not hooked to a heart monitor or the IVs of fluids and blood. 

He’d been told not to kiss him or touch his face, and had been advised not to try to peer under the blankets to search for other wounds. He would cause more pain if he accidentally knocked against Frank’s body and if he reopened the freshly stitched injuries, there was a chance he could get a serious infection and die. 

“I’m here, Frank. So…if you can hear me, just…just know I’m here for you.” He didn’t know what to say to Frank. The last time he’d been in the hospital, Gerard just told him to feel better, that lots of people got the flu and lived to tell the tale (especially young, sexy people like Frank). But that hardly seemed appropriate now. Frank had been beaten and stabbed, and it wasn’t just the medicine keeping him unconscious. Someone had tried—and was trying still—to take Frank away from him and Gerard had to think of these words as the last ones he might ever get to say to him. “I love you. I know they hurt you, but…you’ve gotta get better. You’re stronger than them, so you can’t… You can’t give up on me, Frank. You have to get through this because I…I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna be here every step, so…just keep fighting, Baby. I’m here.” 

Gerard gently stroked the back of Frank’s hand and smiled a little when he felt Frank’s fingers twitch. In his mind, that was Frank’s unconscious way of saying he was listening. 

“I love you, Frank.”

Frank let out a quiet sigh and Gerard smiled. Frank heard him. If something bad happened, at least Frank knew he was loved and hadn’t been forgotten no matter how badly he’d been treated.


	21. Angels of Unknown

_Chapter 21_

Frank opened his eyes to see nothing but bleary, swimmy, bright white lights. 

_Heaven,_ he thought, blinking rapidly a few times. He couldn’t feel any pain, even when he started to breathe a little heavier. He closed his eyes again and the lights starting to burn and whimpered when that slow burn turned into a headache in a matter of seconds. He didn’t know why Heaven hurt for him. Maybe he hadn’t actually been forgiven. Maybe this was purgatory. Maybe he’d been sent straight to Hell instead.

The thought brought tears to his eyes, and the moment he let out a quiet sob, his entire body ignited with an awful, radiating swell of pain. _Everything_ hurt. 

Frank moaned and started squirming, trying desperately to crawl away from the pain as though it were something he could shed. But the ache clung to him and grew worse and worse with each movement.

Then he felt a gentle touch to his head. It startled him at first and he shied away, too afraid to open his eyes knowing the lights would make them burn. 

“Shh. It’s alright.” The voice was so gentle, so soft and friendly and Frank wanted to believe that the voice was speaking truth—but it _wasn’t_ alright. It _hurt._ He hurt _so much._ “Shhh, it’s okay. Shh, shh.” The hand on his head returned, smoothing his hair with feather-light touches.

He heard the voice speak to someone else, and it scared him to know there were more beings around him than the lone angel trying to comfort him. What if it was a demon? What if there was some sort of monster crawling closer and closer, ready to latch onto him and drag him into Hell?

“This is going to hurt just a little,” the angel said to him again, stroking his hair and then moving away from him. Frank took in a shaking breath and then cried out when he felt something being ripped from his body—the pain too great to pinpoint to any one location. “Hush—it’s going to be okay.”

“I thought they said they were going to keep him sedated,” came another voice. A much harsher voice.

Sedated? They didn’t need sedatives in Heaven or Hell—or in any realm other than Earth. He was alive?

“He was starting to have bad reaction to it,” said the gentle one. 

Frank let out a cry of pain when he felt a stinging pain blot out all of the other aches in his body. The sting went on and on until he sobbed with pain and felt his body begin to involuntarily begin trembling. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Iero. You’re okay. We’re almost done.”

Frank tried to choke back some of his cries of pain, but whatever dignity he had was stripped away as the agony went on and on. Finally, not caring if the headache he had got worse because of the lights, Frank forced his eyes to open and blinked hard, trying to clear the blurriness caused by fatigue and tears. There were dark figures leaning over him, both of their hands working at his stomach.

He began to feel dizzy watching them, not quite able to see who they were or what they were doing. Then the idea struck him that they were cutting him open—they were going to gut him while he lie there awake and at their mercy. 

He tried to get enough air to scream, but the panic had set in so fast that his throat tightened and he couldn’t cry out for help.

“We’re almost done. Hush now,” the gentle voice said. 

Frank shook his head and closed his eyes tightly again. Everything had been so dark and so peaceful—why did he have to wake up to a nightmare? Why did he have to wake up _at all?_

“Give him something to keep him quiet,” the harsher one said. 

“He can’t have anything right now. It’ll OD him.”

“Have you got this then? I don’t—”

“Yes.” Her soft voice suddenly became harsh as well. “Please go. If you’re going to have a bad attitude, then leave. I can take care of it from here.”

The other person barked out something cold Frank didn’t catch and then walked away, footsteps loud and creaky on the floor. 

“It’s okay. She’s gone now,” the gentle one said. Frank felt a heavy pressure on his stomach and whimpered until it went away. “There. All done, Mr. Iero.”

Frank slowly opened his eyes again and peered at the woman who now leaned over him. She was reaching for his face again and Frank followed her hand as it brushed against temple. 

“It’s good to see you awake. You had us really worried.”

Frank tried to say something, but the only sound he could get out was a dry cough. 

“I’ll get you some water, okay? Try to stay awake. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he saw the woman’s blurry figure walk away from him, Frank closed his eyes. Little things started coming back to him as he lie there waiting. Flashes of pain, dark laughter…he remembered seeing stars and an airplane with green lights. 

Gerard’s eyes were green in certain lights. 

Where was Gerard? The last time Frank had been hospitalized, Gerard had been _right there._ Gerard had been asleep holding Frank’s hand. This time, Frank woke up alone—and this time Frank was much more afraid to be alone than before.

By the time the nurse returned with a small tray of water and food, Frank was starting to panic. It was still hard for him to discern all the shapes in the bright room and with all the pain in his body, he knew he couldn’t get up and run if someone came in to cause him harm yet again. 

“Here we go—let me help you sit up,” the nurse said. She set the tray down over his hips and then leaned over him to press a button on the bed, raising the head of it until Frank was in a reclined sitting position. Even the slight change in angle sent bolts of pain up his spine. “Sorry. If I could give you more medication I would, but you started getting really sick from the meds so we had to cut back.” 

Frank reached forward for the cup of water, but his hand was shaking so badly so that gave up trying in fear that he would spill the water all over himself. 

The nurse sighed softly and picked the cup up for him and held it to his lips, tipping it just a little so Frank could take small sips. It hurt to swallow and it took several minutes to even work himself up to swallowing a mouthful of the water. His nurse, however, never lost her patience and smiled at him when he finally managed to finish the cup. 

“I’ll get you some more to drink,” she said, taking the cup and then moving the tray forward a little further to help Frank reach it despite his trembling hands. “We can take this off for now too,” she added, reaching for his right hand and taking the heart monitor clip off his finger. “There. I’ll be back in a minute. Try to stay awake.”

Frank whimpered as he watched her go away. He hated how desperately he wanted her to stay close. She was a complete stranger, but she’d already defended him once again the less-than-sympathetic nurse who had been overseeing him earlier. She was a friend to him and when she was with him he didn’t have to think about the awful images in the back of his mind. 

After struggling to pull open the little plastic container holding the food for him on his tray, Frank stared down at the cold, leafy salad presented to him. There were strips of cut, grilled chicken lying beside the lettuce and Frank groaned at the sight of them. A cup of dressing also sat beside the little mess of salad but Frank had no interest in it. Staring at the white, filmy liquid made him sick to his stomach, and when he tried to take a bite of lettuce, his mind immediately began churning out more awful pictures until Frank spit the small bit of food back out. 

He remembered cruel, sneering faces. Man after man laughing as they forced themselves on him and made him watch the pleasure that shined in their eyes. The first wasn’t content to stay between Frank’s legs. Before he finished, he pulled out and starting punching Frank in the face until he opened his mouth to let him inside. He’d started to cum on Frank’s tongue, then finished on his face. 

Frank hadn’t ever felt so low, so violated, so _disgusting._

He covered his eyes in hopes it would somehow keep the memories away, as if they crawled into him from the outside instead of eating him alive from within. He hadn’t heard the nurse return and didn’t know she was there until she put a hand on his shoulder.

When he uncovered his face, she already had the cup ready to press against his lips. With the memories of something much worse being held to his mouth, Frank wanted to push the white cup away, but her kind voice made him relax just enough to get a drink. 

“There you go… You have some visitors waiting to see you, but first there are going to be some officers here to talk about what happened.”

“I don’t want to see anybody,” Frank said, then quickly added, “expect Gerard. I… I want to see Gerard. Not…Not cops. I don’t want to talk to cops.”

“Mr. Iero, your heart stopped _twice._ This was almost a homicide. You _have_ to talk to the police.”

“Twice?” Frank whispered. He’d died _twice?_

“Yes. Once when you were first brought in and then late that next night from complications, but our team was able to get you better. Please…you can’t let them get away with what they did.”

“I don’t… If I can see Gerard first I’ll talk to them,” Frank said. All he could think of—other than the dark thought vying for his attention—was how scared Gerard had to be. If Frank’s heart had stopped, it had to have killed Gerard, too. Frank couldn’t even imagine how his lover was holding up.

“Okay…” The nurse said hesitantly before making Frank drink more water as she stroked his hair a few more times. “I’ll see if he’s still in the lobby.”

As soon as the nurse pulled away from, Frank regretted speaking. Even if she was going to come back, he still dreaded every second that he was on his own. Time to himself was quiet and it gave his brain all the incentive it needed to torture him and torment him until he was crying again at the bad memories. He tried to keep his composure, but it just got worse and worse until he was sobbing and choking on the lump in his throat. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. He was the one who protected Gerard—he was the one who supported Gerard through this pain. Frank had always assumed that if he did a good job supporting his lover that God wouldn’t punish him by making him endure the same torture. Apparently he’d been wrong. Apparently he’d failed Gerard and now he had to learn just how useless he’d been when Gerard had been at his lowest. More than the pain in his body, it hurt to know he’d failed so dismally at his job that he _made_ this happen. He knew that if, all those years ago, he hadn’t tried to push Gerard away because of what went on between him and Marcus, _this_ never would’ve happened to him. He’d been so selfish, so insensitive…

So _stupid._

“Frank? Hey—Hey! What’s the matter?” 

All at once Frank found himself being wrapped up in someone else’s arms and though he knew it was Gerard—he could recognize his voice and his _smell_ —his body felt as though it had been injected with panic. His muscles tensed to the point where he couldn’t even breathe to cry, and when he tried to scream nothing more than a few quiet groans escaped. 

“Don’t cry, Frank. I’m here. I… I’m here,” Gerard said, and kept repeating it over and over as though he really thought the words could help—or perhaps he just didn’t know what else to say.

“Please let go,” Frank finally managed to cry. Even after Gerard pulled away from him, the fear stayed in Frank’s mind. It was his boyfriend holding him. The person he _wanted_ to hold him, but the closeness reminded his flesh of the violence he’d endured and though his heart wanted Gerard, his body felt sick at the contact. 

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I… I was so worried. They wouldn’t let me see you for a long time and I didn’t know if…if you were gonna wake up.” 

Frank couldn’t look at him. He kept his eyes trained on the tray of disgusting food in his lap and chewed his bottom lip until he started tasting blood. 

“Frank?”

Gerard was crying and Frank couldn’t bear the sound of it. All of his emotions seemed to be clashing together. He felt _guilty_ for making Gerard so upset, and then _angry_ that Gerard’s crying made him feel guilty when it _wasn’t_ his fault that any of this happened. He was sad, and hurt, and _mad._ He just felt _mad_ underneath every other weak feeling. 

Maybe God _was_ punishing him for not taking good enough care of Gerard, but none of this would’ve happened if Gerard could keep his fucking legs closed. If Gerard could just be faithful for _once_ in his life, then there would be no Bert, no grudge, no bored and angry back-up players to use Bert’s so called broken heart as an excuse to take their frustrations out on Frank. This was _Gerard’s_ fault.

It was _Gerard’s fault!_

So why couldn’t Frank _actually_ get mad at him? Why couldn’t he lash out at him and slap him? Why couldn’t he yell at him? Or tell him that this was his fault and that he needed to apologize?

“I really did want to see you,” Gerard said, his voice cracking as he started to cry. “I told them I wanted to be in the room in case you woke up and they wouldn’t let me. They said they’d make me leave if I tried… I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Frank couldn’t respond to him. He didn’t know how. He couldn’t comfort Gerard. He didn’t have the energy. 

“Frank? Please…” 

Gerard leaned forward and tried to kiss Frank’s cheek, but Frank turned away. Gerard let out a pained cry and then collapsed into sobs. When the sound became muffled, Frank could tell he was covering his face and it hurt him to think that he was making his boyfriend so unhappy. 

“You don’t want to kiss me,” Frank whispered.

“Yes I do,” Gerard cried, voice still muffled. “You almost died. I don’t want to _stop_ kissing you.” Gerard leaned forward again and tried to kiss Frank’s cheek, but Frank turned farther away—hissing a little as the movement caused pain in his gut. 

All he could think of was the men and what they’d left on him. Blood, semen…piss. They’d held him down so one of their friends could piss on his face—in his eyes, in his _mouth._

A sob forced its way out of Frank’s chest and he covered his face from the shame. He felt so disgusting, so _filthy._ Like he’d never, ever be clean again. 

“I…I’m not the one who stabbed you,” Gerard whimpered, as if he really thought that was why Frank didn’t want kissed by him. “I’m really not. I was with Mikey. I wasn’t even there when they _found_ you, Frank. I didn’t do it. I _wouldn’t_ do that. I love you. Frank… Frank?”

“I know,” Frank said, trying to push back the tears. He was in so much pain though. It felt like the pain would never stop. 

“Please—Frank, please look at me. Baby… _Baby,_ ” Gerard pleaded, crying just as hard as Frank was. 

His sorrow made Frank cave and he finally turned his head just enough so he could see his boyfriend’s face out of the corner of his eye. Gerard looked so devastated. Frank wished he looked tougher. He wished Gerard at least _tried_ to keep it together so Frank wouldn’t have to use the small bits of energy he had to build Gerard back up.

“I _missed_ you,” Gerard murmured, reaching out and gently grabbing one of Frank’s hands. 

Frank let him. The touch to his hand didn’t scare him so much, and it was enough contact to make him feel comforted without feeling ensnared.

“How long have I been here?” Frank asked.

“About a week,” Gerard said, sniffing back more tears as he tried to pull it together. 

“So I guess…you left the tour.” 

“I… I-I…” Gerard started fidgeting in his seat and then sighed shakily. “They said they were keeping you a-asleep for…for a few days so…w-we went… We did a couple shows, but I didn’t want to go too far away from you.”

“You left?” Frank asked, not sure whether to feel proud that Gerard could still perform without him, or angry that Gerard left him to go sing for strangers. 

“I thought that…you would feel better if we still had the band when you woke up. Ray said…you might feel guilty if I let it go because you got hurt.”

“You left?” Frank repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whimpered. “I won’t leave now. You’re…you’re awake and I can help you. They wouldn’t let me see you, Frank. I couldn’t stand being here and not being allowed to see you.”

“You said…you weren’t there when they found me.”

“Yeah. I was…I was looking for you inside with Bob.”

“Who found me?”

“Mikey…and Ray.”

“Outside in the parking lot?” Frank asked, wondering how many people had to have walked past his body without doing a damned thing to help him. 

“In the dumpster, Frank. They left you in the trash.” When Gerard said it his voice cracked and he started squeezing Frank’s hand a little harder, still gentle as though afraid to cause any pain. 

“So they moved me,” Frank said. It didn’t surprise him at all that he’d been thrown into a dumpster. Those men had done everything to prove to him that he was lower than human. Throwing him away with the beer cans and broken bottles was the next logical step in disposing of their trash. 

“Frankie, what did they do to you?” Gerard asked, reaching out with his free hand to stroke Frank’s hair. His touch was just as gentle as the nurse’s had been and Frank found himself leaning against Gerard’s hand. 

“You don’t want to know,” Frank whispered, still making up his mind on whether he should tell Gerard or not, or how much he would tell if he spoke about it at all. 

“Yes I do. How can I help you if you don’t tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to upset you,” Frank mumbled.

“Upset me?”

“It’s not gonna do either of us any good if I put it all on you so…”

“Frank, you can tell me. It’s not a _burden._ I want to be here for you.”

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” Frank whispered. All it would do was crush Gerard’s heart if Frank told him anything. And if Gerard’s heart got broken, Frank would have to fix it and he just didn’t have strength left in him for that. So, trying hard to keep from getting angry, Frank muttered out a few details of his awful night leaving out rape and pretending he never saw the faces of the men who “robbed” him. 

“You’re _lying_ to me,” Gerard said as soon as Frank finished. He even had the nerve to sound bitter.

“I’m not lying.”

“It was Bert… _Bert_ did this. Didn’t he? That’s why you won’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t Bert. I could take Bert,” Frank muttered, wishing it were true. Frank knew now that he was never half as strong as he used to imagine himself to be. He was weak. Pathetic. 

“I _was_ Bert,” Gerard said, almost bitter. “That’s why they keep laughing. Isn’t it? They keep laughing at me. It was…It was Bert and those same assholes who beat me up—I knew it!”

Frank said nothing. He merely turned his head to look at his hand, still wrapped up in Gerard’s. 

“I’m gonna get them for this,” Gerard said.

“You’re not going to do anything,” Frank mumbled. 

“Frank. _Frank._ ”

Frank looked up at him and met his gaze. Gerard was still crying, but he looked angry. It was so hard to convince himself that the anger and fire in Gerard’s eyes wasn’t directed at him—wasn’t fueled by a desire to hurt him in some way.

“I _will_ get them for this.”

“You’re not gonna do anything,” Frank repeated. 

“I will _kill_ them for this.”

“Why? So you go to jail and I’m stuck here alone without you?” Frank asked. “So I have to go through this alone?”

Gerard started to lose that fire in his eyes and then started weeping again.

“I won’t let them get away with this. I _won’t_.”

Frank wanted to tell him again that he wasn’t going to do anything, but there was a knock at the door and when it opened the nurse was standing there with two police officers at her side. They asked Gerard to leave and he did, but only after grabbing Frank forcefully by the chin and kissing him hard on the mouth despite the scabs and blood. 

Frank whimpered, but tried not to show his fear in front of the cops, worried they might turn their focus onto Gerard who would be too angry or emotional to defend himself against whatever accusations they might raise.


	22. Can you Fake it?

_Chapter 22_

They’d _earned_ it, their tour manager said. They were moving up in importance. They _deserved_ it, everyone agreed. But Frank knew what it was. Frank knew, even before the tour manager took him aside. It wasn’t a perk. It wasn’t a handout. It was hush money. 

Their shiny new tour bus was nothing more than insurance that Frank would keep his mouth shut about what happened. 

He hadn’t told the police who did it. He pretended that he’d blacked out shortly after being stabbed and didn’t know any physical traits at all of his attackers. He said there wasn’t much worth remembering except getting jumped by some drunk guys looking for a fight. The officers kept insisting that he tell them the truth—they knew he hadn’t just been beaten—but Frank continued to play it off as nothing major, nothing important. 

The police knew the truth and the hospital staff knew the truth, but everyone else—Gerard, Brian, Ray, their tour manager—they all knew he’d been beaten up and that was it. Frank left it at that. No one needed to know. 

That was where the hush money from their label came in. It would be bad for publicity if it got out that someone on the tour had attacked him—whether it was another band or a tech. It might make fans feel unsafe at the shows, it might make them lose faith in other bands signed to the label…

Their tour manager made it very clear that he thought Bert had been behind it. Frank didn’t bother to correct him. It hardly mattered. Everyone seemed to have their own opinion about what happened to him and Frank wasn’t about to contribute any more details. He’d been told that he couldn’t talk about it because it would lose them their contract because fighting on tour was strictly forbidden. He’d been told that if he confessed to the fans that he’d gotten beaten up by another band then it would pit the fans against each other, that it would make him look weak—that it would make his _band_ look weak—that he would just cause more trouble if he started speaking…that he needed to accept responsibility for meddling in Gerard’s affairs and deal with the consequences on his own.

That had hurt the worst, but Frank refused to let it show. He’d learned how to keep his expression blank when he’d been recovering in the hospital. Gerard left him to rejoin the tour and went out of state to do a couple of shows—crushing Frank more than he ever wanted anyone in that hospital to know—and in that time Frank had had a lot of time to think and sort through his feelings.

He was angry at Gerard—it was Gerard’s _fault_ that any of this had happened—but he wasn’t going to act on it. What good would it do? He couldn’t leave Gerard… And before long he knew Gerard would leave him anyway so instead of agitating things, Frank was willing to just let them go. Let Gerard get bored and slip away. Maybe he’d go back to Bert. Maybe he’d pick up some other singer or maybe even an enthusiastic fan. 

Yeah, Frank could see Gerard getting whisked away by a fan. Someone to tell him how perfect he was, forgive him for every mistake he makes just because it was an honor to be in his presence. If or when Gerard told them about his past, he would get three times the amount of affection Frank could offer him. Instead of half-hearted kisses in the night as he shook from his terrors, Gerard would have renewed affection. 

“Frank, what’s wrong?”

Frank flinched and quickly wiped at his cheek, smearing the tears away and shaking his head, unwilling to acknowledge them anymore. 

“Frank, what is it?” Gerard kept pushing it, stroking Frank’s shoulder until Frank finally pushed his hand away. 

“Stop it.”

“What? Do you…not like the bus? It’s big, but we don’t have drive it—we have a set driver now and everything.”

“The bus is fine,” Frank mumbled, looking at the shiny, new bus paid for by his tragedy. 

“Frank, what’s the matter?” Gerard asked again. 

“Just shut up,” Frank said, stepping away from him and going to stand beside Ray instead. 

“Frank,” Gerard followed him and kept trying to grab Frank’s arm in order to make him turn to face him. 

“Stop,” Frank mumbled, pushing Gerard’s hand away and then slapping at it when that didn’t work. “Stop it! I don’t want you touching me!” 

“Gerard, give him some space,” Ray said, getting between them and pushing Gerard back a couple of steps. 

“Come on,” Mikey said, grabbing Gerard’s shoulder as his brother stared helplessly at Frank, not understanding why he was being pushed away. “Let’s get some coffee before it’s time to go.”

“I’m sorry, Frank,” Gerard said, lowering his head as Mikey led him through the rows of cars in the parking lot, looking every bit like a dejected child. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go with them,” Bob said, not bothering to sound convincing as he stepped away from Frank and Ray, walking in the complete opposite direction of Mikey and Gerard.

“You okay, man?” Ray asked, moving to put a hand on Frank’s should but changing his mind at the last possible second. 

“I’m fine,” Frank mumbled, looking away from the bus and staring off after Gerard and Mikey who were disappearing into the mess of vehicles parked in the lot. 

“Frank, you’re obviously not fine,” Ray said. “You can talk to me. We’re best friends.”

“I just…It’s my business. I’m not going to throw it onto everybody else.”

“You mean Gerard,” Ray said. “You don’t want to put any pressure on Gerard, and that’s fine—I get it—but you’re _drowning_ here, Frank. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, and ever since you got out of the hospital you don’t really _talk_ to anyone either.”

“I just…. I don’t want to be here,” Frank said.

“Brian said it would be fine if you went home for a couple more weeks to recover,” Ray said.

“I don’t want to be alone either.” Frank chanced another look at the bus and sighed. Looking at it reminded him of what he’d endured—what he’d gone through to _pay for it_ with his silence. Any other day, any other _time_ Frank would’ve seen that bus as a blessing. It was just what he and Gerard wanted. A bus was private; a bus separated them from the outside world but didn’t cram them together into a tiny little space like the van. There were bunks. There were places to sit and talk together…placed to hide and hold each other.

Except Frank didn’t want held. He didn’t want touched. Not by Gerard, not by anyone. The van may have given him claustrophobia after he’d rejoined the tour when the hospital released him, but at least there was no place for Gerard to get him alone.

Frank knew all too well what Gerard did when he was forced to go without sex when he wanted it. Gerard became angry, he became forceful, and after that he just moved on to someone else. No matter what happened, Frank knew he would be hurt again, and by Gerard this time. By the person he loved more than he loved anything else in the world. 

Frank didn’t know if he could really run away to prevent that torture from happening, or if he would stay and face it. He _needed_ Gerard. And he hated that.

He hated how goddamned conflicted he was about every single feeling in his heart and in his head. He was mad at Gerard, he was _desperate_ for Gerard. He wanted the band, he wanted _away_ from the band. There was nothing he could agree on except that his body hurt too much to go on stage to perform yet. Even if he had wanted to get on stage in front of all those people—or wait backstage with all his enemies watching him, lurking in every shadow leering at him—his muscles and bones protested. If he so much as walked a little too fast his stab wound started hurting and sometimes even bled. 

“You could stay at your mom’s place, couldn’t you?” Ray asked.

“I’m not running home to my mother!” Frank shouted, angry but not at Ray. “I’m not twelve anymore. I can take care of myself!”

“Frank, I don’t know what to tell you,” Ray said. “I know you’re upset, and I know that you’re scared, but if you don’t want to be here and you don’t want to be at home by yourself, there’s not much else you can do unless you quit the band and take Gerard with you.”

“So now you’re saying I’m fucking up the band?”

“No!”

“That’s what it sounds like! Either I get over it and play or I quit—and you all know if I quit, Gerard will too! So now it’s my _fault_ that everything is falling apart!?”

“ _Nothing_ is falling apart! Frank, _nothing_ is falling apart. No one _blames_ you for anything.”

That was easy for Ray to say. So easy for him to think that nothing was out of place. Gerard was singing without Frank on stage with him—Gerard had been going off to shows without Frank when he was still in the hospital. Maybe that looked fine to Ray, but it didn’t _feel_ like nothing to Frank. Either Gerard was going to keep going without him—find someone else if he hadn’t already while Frank was out of the picture—or he would leave with Frank. Either way, Frank would leave the band and it wouldn’t be the same without him. Gerard may have another casual lover, but no one would _ever_ love him as much as Frank did. No one else would ever understand the night terrors or the depression or the fits of rage. No one would put up with Gerard the way Frank did. So if… So _when_ Frank finally got up the courage to leave and Gerard stayed behind with his new boyfriend, Frank knew that it wouldn’t be long after he was gone that Gerard would crash and leave as well. 

Gerard needed him. Gerard would come crawling back to him… 

Frank hoped. 

Frank _didn’t_ hope. 

Why couldn’t he just decide on _anything?_ He didn’t even know if he wanted his _boyfriend_ anymore. Whenever he felt the desire to be near Gerard, fear and anger hit him and knocked him back down. And so did the thought lingering in the back of his mind, past the worries about whether or not he’d contracted a disease either from his attackers or something he’d fallen on in the dumpster: What if Gerard didn’t want him after all of this? What if Gerard didn’t think Frank was good enough anymore? 

Gerard had said it enough times when they’d been together the first time. He was damaged goods, and who the fuck wanted that? 

No one.

_No one…_

“Frank, I really think you should take some time off—”

“You can’t just kick me out of the band because of this!” Frank snapped. He hated how on edge he felt. Everything felt like an attack. Everything felt like a jab at his own inability to make up his mind. He didn’t want pushed out. Not yet. 

“Stop it! No one’s kicking you out! I’m not asking you to _leave for good._ I’m telling you that it’s _okay_ if you go home to recover. You’re _sick,_ Frank.”

“I’m _not_ sick.”

“Well you’re sure not happy. And you don’t _want_ to be here, so why are you making yourself stay?” Frank didn’t answer. “Because you’re afraid Gerard will quit if you do?”

“The band is all Gerard ever wanted. It’s _good_ for him to be here. So he should stay here. I don’t want to be the reason he has to quit and we have to be the band that was almost something and then ended.”

“Frank…the way you’re making it sound, the band ends either way. So do you want to do it now and get it over with, or drag it out and torture yourself in the process?”

“I don’t want the band to be over,” Frank mumbled. “Gerard needs it.”

“Who cares what he needs?” Ray snapped. “You’ve been worried about what Gerard needs since you were a teenager, Frank! You need to take time for yourself for once. _You’re_ the one who’s hurt this time. _He’s_ the one who should be worrying about you.”

“He _is_ worried,” Frank muttered. 

“Yeah. I know. And you don’t like to have him worried, but you don’t have the strength left to comfort him.”

“I know,” Frank admitted. Finally, it felt like he was getting somewhere. Yes, it hurt to see Gerard upset for any reason. Especially when they were both aware that Gerard’s affair with Bert caused this whole mess. 

“So instead of comforting him, you yell at him and push him away. Do you think if you make him mad enough _you_ won’t have to feel bad for him anymore?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you get him angry at you instead of worried about you, do you think it will make you feel better? Because then you won’t have to feel compelled to comfort him?”

“I don’t know,” Frank mumbled, looking in the direction that Gerard and Mikey had walked. “I just don’t want him touching me. I don’t want anyone touching me right now and that’s all he keeps trying to do.”

“Gerard’s just a really physical person with you. He’s _always_ been really physical with you. He doesn’t know any other way to comfort you.”

“I know. But I don’t want him to touch me. I _really_ don’t, and I keep telling him and he _keeps_ doing it…”

“Have you told him why you don’t want touched?”

“I shouldn’t have to!” Frank snapped. “And it wouldn’t make sense to him anyway! Whenever he gets hurt he’s fucking _trained_ to crawl into someone’s arms. I’m not! I don’t _want_ him touching me! I don’t want _anyone_ touching me!”

“No one’s…gonna touch you, Frank,” Ray said, taken aback by how vehemently he said it. “You’re my best friend. If he keeps bothering you, _I’ll_ tell him to knock it off. Okay? I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Frank knew by “lose you” Ray didn’t mean the band. More than anyone, maybe even more than Gerard, Ray saw how different Frank was since that night. Gerard seemed to think all Frank needed to get better was a promise of revenge and cuddling. Ray knew that whatever wounds Frank had ran deeper than that, even if Frank never told them about anything that had happened to him that night. His friends didn’t need the details. He didn’t want the pitying looks…but he wanted to be understood. 

“He’s…he’s tried to rape me before, you know? A couple of times back at our house and…before then too.”

“I remember how he used to get,” Ray said, keeping his tone gentle, straining not to add any emphasis to anything as he tried to coax Frank into saying more.

“And I know it’s because of how he was treated and I know he gets… He gets—”

“He gets _desperate,_ ” Ray said.

“Yeah. He doesn’t do it to hurt me. He _loves_ me. I _know_ that, but—”

“But it’s still…it’s still scary,” Ray said, grappling with the words for a moment. 

“Yeah. And with me not…not wanting touched right now, Ray, I’m scared he’s gonna do it again. And I’m scared he _won’t_ stop this time. And if…if he does that I won’t be able to look at him anymore. I don’t want to be afraid of my own _boyfriend._ I have enough to…to be worried about.”

Frank continued to stare in the direction that Gerard had disappeared. He wasn’t sure if he was watching for Gerard to return or if he was fearful that Gerard might be on his way back to him. Wherever Mikey had taken him, Gerard wouldn’t stay there for long. He had a need to be around Frank—to watch over him, to protect him…

When he thought of how kind and sweet Gerard had been when Frank had been sick, Frank started to feel guilty for having negative thoughts toward him at all.

No matter what he felt or thought, Frank had a sense that it was all wrong. He could do nothing, say nothing, and feel nothing right. 

( ) ( ) ( ) 

“Come here,” Ray said, grabbing Gerard by the arm and pulling him away from the table at the café down the street from the venue. 

“What the hell?” Mikey snapped, standing as well.

“Mikey, it’s fine,” Gerard said, pulling away from Ray and straightening his leather jacket as though it were the only thing out of place. 

“Whatever—don’t come in here and start pulling Gerard around; he hasn’t done anything,” Mikey said, not so much angry but defensive. 

“It’s _fine,_ ” Gerard repeated, following Ray out of the café and onto the sidewalk out front. “What?” He asked when they were finally alone.

“I want to talk to you about Frank,” Ray said. He wanted to stay firm with Gerard, to show him that he meant what he was about to say, but it was hard when Gerard’s face suddenly became pained and anxious at the mention of Frank’s name. 

“What about Frank? Did he say something about what happened? I know he’s been keeping something back—did he tell you?”

“If he did, I wouldn’t come share it with you,” Ray said. Frank was his friend—his oldest friend. If Frank told him something in private, Ray would never reveal it to anyone else. 

“Then what do you want to say?” Gerard asked, looking hurt.

“I’m telling you now that if you lay one hand on Frank after he’s told you not to, I’m going to make you pay for it,” Ray said. It was out of character for him. It felt wrong to be making threats when he was typically the one keeping the peace. If it came down to it, Gerard probably knew Ray’s threats were empty, but when fear and pain flashed in his eyes, Ray knew for the moment that Gerard believed him. “He doesn’t need you pushing him right now, and if you keep coming at him and putting your hands on him when he asks you to stop, he’s going to leave—you. He’s going to leave _you._ ”

“Frank… Frank said he’s going to leave me?” Gerard said, blood draining from his face. He looked like he might get sick, and even put a hand to his mouth as if to stifle a gag before the tears rushed him. “He said—he said he wants to leave me?”

“If you keep touching him when he doesn’t want it, yes,” Ray said. It wasn’t technically a lie, and it was enough to keep Gerard in line. 

“I… I’m just trying to _help_ him,” Gerard said, both hands going to his mouth before a sob broke out. His eyes started flicking back and forth, looking at Ray, looking at the café windows, surveying the street in case some member of the press was nearby ready to snap a photo and spread a rumor. “I didn’t know it hurt him. I just wanted to help—I just wanted him to know I still love him.”

“Then show him you love him by listening when he tells you to quit grabbing him. I know what you’re like, Gerard. I know how you’ve treated him in the past and I’m here to tell you if you push Frank that far again—”

“That far? Ray, I—”

“If you try to _attack_ him again—”

“I wouldn’t do that to him! He’s hurt! He needs me to protect him not—”

“He’ll be gone and I don’t think you’ll ever see him again.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him!” Gerard screamed. “I-I didn’t mean to—I… _Fuck._ I never meant to hurt him.” Gerard kept chanting it over and over, tugging at his hair and sobbing. “I didn’t mean to push him, I just wanted to make sure he was _okay._ I just wanted to—to help! I thought if… Oh, God. He’s gonna leave me.”

Ray cringed as he watched Gerard tear himself apart. He expected Gerard to get upset, but not this bad. He’d meant to scare him, not break him. Mikey must’ve seen the display from inside the café because as soon as Gerard dropped to the ground—the weight of his sorrow too much for his legs to bear—Mikey burst through the doors and came out to pull him back up. 

“Come on. Let’s go back,” Mikey said, passing a cold look to Ray once his brother was standing again. “You don’t need to feel bad, Gerard. You haven’t done shit.”

“I hurt Frank,” Gerard whispered.

“No. You didn’t. He needs space, that’s it. It’s nothing to cry about and he’s not gonna die because you touched his fucking arm.” Again, Mikey glared at Ray before guiding Gerard down the sidewalk.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank sighed heavily, hoping his mother would take a hint and stop drilling him. He’d called her in hopes of getting some sort of comfort, but the conversation stressed him out more than it helped him. 

He was lying in his bunk on the bus—or what he’d decided was his bunk since no one else had exactly moved into their new “home” yet—with the curtain closed and the overhead light off. It was dark and cramped and made Frank feel secure in a way. Like he was hidden in the back of a shelf where no one would ever find him. 

“I don’t _know_ if I’ll be playing,” Frank said for what felt like the millionth time. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. I don’t _know._ ”

“Well I don’t want to go to some concert where your _father_ will be if you’re not even going to play.”

“So then don’t come!” Frank snapped, unable to hold back his temper. “I don’t know if I’ll play. I don’t know if I’m even going to be in the _band_ three months from now.”

“Frank, if you’re that _hurt,_ come home. There’s no reason to keep pushing yourself. You’ll just stress yourself out and then your injuries will _never_ heal.”

“I don’t want to _come home._ I want to be with my band, I just…I can’t do it. I don’t know…”

“What’s _really_ bothering you? There’s something else going on and I know it.”

“Nothing else is going on,” Frank mumbled.

“Frank. You know I’m _worried_ about you. I wanted to come see you in the hospital but I couldn’t afford it. I tried—”

“I’m not _mad_ at you because you didn’t come see me. I had Gerard—”

“You said he left to go back on tour.”

“Yeah, but he came by a couple of times. I can’t blame him for playing at the shows. We lost enough time when I was sick. If we missed any more performances we could’ve been cut from the tour altogether and—”

“You don’t need to justify him. It _hurt_ you. Okay? It’s alright to admit it. He wasn’t there when you needed him and it hurt you.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what this is _about._ ”

“Then what is it about, Frank? I’m your mother. You can talk to me—and don’t you dare say ‘yeah, but’ one more time. I know I wasn’t there for you when you were younger, but I’m here now. So don’t write me off. What’s really bothering you?”

“The guys who… The guys who beat me up, I think they…they’re friends, I guess, of Bert’s.”

“Bert? The guy Gerard was _cheating_ on you with?”

“Yeah. Him,” Frank mumbled. 

“Do you think…it was out of jealousy? That this guy told them to do it because you have Gerard and he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think Bert had anything to do with it. I mean… Bert _hardly_ has anything to do with it. The guys…they’re jealous that they’re backups and not the stars, you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“They’re backup players,” Frank repeated. “They play for The Used if Quinn or somebody gets sick.”

“Yes, I understand _that._ But you told me that you didn’t _know_ who jumped you.”

Frank sighed again and rolled onto his side, burying his face in the wall of the bus. 

“You _know_ who did it and you didn’t tell anyone? You almost _died!_ Do you understand that!? Frank, they’ can come back. They can hurt you again—”

“Shut up! Just shut up about it!” Frank screamed. He wouldn’t let her put that thought in his head. He couldn’t bear to have that thought in the front of his mind. “If I turn them in, I’ll get cut from the tour too. The label is practically _paying me_ to keep my mouth shut. So don’t push it, okay!?”

“What a way to put a price sticker on your _life,_ Frank. They know you saw their faces. They’ll _come back,_ Now call the police and report them for this! They’ll go to jail and you’ll be safe. They’re just backup players. They’re disposable.”

“The label doesn’t want a scandal! The tour managers don’t want a scandal! That’s what it’s about, not safety. It’s about money and their image. If it gets out that backup players _they_ hired are trying to fucking kill people, no one’s gonna feel safe coming to the shows!”

“Don’t yell at me. I’m just worried about you. You’re my son. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Well it’s a little late to be worrying about that,” Frank muttered. 

“Listen… If it’s too much pressure for you to be on the tour, just come home. Take a break from the band. I’m sure no one there would blame you if you came home to rest instead of pushing yourself.”

“I can’t just leave Gerard though. He’ll either quit the band to come with me or he’ll…”

“What scares you more, Frank?” His mother asked after a long silence. “That Gerard will quit the band to come how with you or that he’ll stay on the tour without you?”

“I don’t know,” Frank whispered. “I don’t want to be the reason he loses this, you know? He’s always been a good writer and he’s _always_ wanted to make music, and now he’s finally got it. He can even sing in front of people now without being _completely_ drunk. He’s…he’s happy here. He loves the attention he’s getting and it just…he _glows_ on stage. It’s like he belongs there. I’d hate myself if I got him this far and then let him down.”

“You’ve been doting on him forever, Frank. You need to take care of yourself for once. Do what’s good for _you_ for once.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t do any good for me if I drag Gerard home and then get so depressed ‘cause I ruined his dream that I don’t get out of bed anymore.”

“Okay, so what if you come home and he stays on tour. What then?”

“I’d…” _Die._ That was the word that came to Frank’s mind. He couldn’t go home without Gerard. He couldn’t sit in the house alone all night afraid of every noise, desperately waiting for phone calls whenever Gerard got the time to call him—if he ever thought about him at all. “If I leave the band, then I’m leaving him. I may as well pack up the house and…move onto the street,” Frank said, shame flooding him as he started to cry.

“Frank…”

“Because if I’m not here, he’ll start seeing someone else and I can’t do that again. I can’t go through that again, Mom. I love him.”

“Okay,” she said, keeping her voice gentle as if speaking to a small child. “So you want to stay on the tour.”

“I guess,” Frank said, trying to sniff back the tears. 

“So then we have to figure out what it’s going to take to get you feeling better so you can play again.”

“It’s not that easy,” Frank said. He could never tell her what had happened, and he knew what she was going to suggest that he do to feel better—feel safer—on tour. Lean on Gerard. Let Gerard help him. Trust Gerard. Confide in Gerard. Let Gerard be the caretaker. 

So much easier said than done…

Frank jumped when he heard the door open on the bus and hung up his phone without saying goodbye, almost as if afraid of being caught talking to someone else. 

“Gerard—they said they saw Frank come on the bus. He’s _here._ It’s _fine._ ” That was Mikey’s voice, sternly telling Gerard not to panic when he didn’t see Frank standing outside the bus where he’d left him.

“Last time you guys said that he ended up dead, okay!? I just…he won’t answer his phone…” Gerard sounded like he was sobbing and when Frank lit up his cellphone screen he noticed multiple texts from Gerard that had come while he had been on the phone with his mother. “Oh, God they took him,” Gerard cried.

“Gerard, calm the fuck down,” Mikey said. 

Frank heard footsteps approaching the bunk room and froze on the spot. He wanted to get up, push open the curtain to show himself so Gerard wouldn’t worry, but just hearing the stressful conversation and sensing the footsteps drawing nearer and neared, Frank found himself panicking instead. He was terrified…of _nothing._ No one was going to hurt him. He _knew_ no one was going to hurt him, but his heart continued to pound in his chest until Mikey pulled open the curtain on his bunk.

“See—he was taking a nap here on the bus, where they _told you_ he would be,” Mikey said, indifferent to whether or not ripping the curtain open distressed Frank or not. 

“Mikey! Don’t do that to him! Oh my God. What’s the matter with you?” Gerard yelled, his voice high pitched and whiny as he too entered the bunk room. Frank forced himself to roll over and face his bandmates. Mikey walked away as soon as Gerard put himself between Frank’s bunk and Mikey. “Frank, I’m so sorry,” Gerard said, sinking down to peer into Frank’s bunk as soon as his brother had left the room.

“It’s fine,” Frank managed to say. “I was just on the phone with my mom. It’s okay.”

“He can’t just…bother you like that,” Gerard said, calming down a little when he saw that Frank was alright—even though Frank knew he looked a mess from crying. They had to have made such a pretty, broken pair. Neither of them, it seemed, could be in the other’s presence without one of them either in tears or on the verge of them. 

“I wanted…I wanted to talk to you alone for a little while if that’s okay,” Gerard mumbled.

“Okay,” Frank said softly. 

“I was… Well, the thing is—um…”

Frank felt his stomach tighten as he feared what Gerard would say. They needed to break up, he’d say. He already had someone else, he’d say. Frank should go back to their house and move out, he’d say…

“What?” Frank asked.

“I don’t want to upset you,” Gerard whispered, looking down at the floor. “I just want you to know that I love you so…if you tell me not to touch you I’m gonna listen. I won’t push. I won’t _hurt_ you. I know I’ve done some really shitty things to you in the past, but I want to get over that. I want us to be a couple. I really mean it when I say I want to marry you someday. And maybe now’s not the time to say that because I know you’re stressed and you’re hurt, but I think you should know I mean it when I say I love you. I’m not going to go behind your back and I’m not going to force you to do things you don’t want. I’m your partner and I’m…I’m gonna act like it.”

“Okay,” Frank murmured, words escaping him. There Gerard was, pouring his heart out and making more promises he couldn’t possibly keep. Gerard wouldn’t hurt him? Gerard _always_ lost his patience and pushed things too far. Gerard wouldn’t leave him? Gerard didn’t handle rejection or temptation well. 

“Frankie, I _mean_ it, and I’ll do _anything_ to prove it.”

“I believe you,” Frank whispered.

“I won’t push you, but…I really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

“No,” Frank said, shaking his head quickly. 

“Okay,” Gerard answered, smiling through his pain and nodding a little. It hurt Frank to see that forced smile.

“I can… I can kiss you,” Frank offered. 

“You don’t have to. I’m fine,” Gerard said, forcing an even bigger smile. 

“Come here,” Frank said, slowly sliding out of his bunk and getting to his feet unsteadily. 

“Frank, you don’t have to.”

“I want to kiss you. Come here,” Frank repeated, licking his lips and then opening up his arms just enough to offer Gerard a small, awkward embrace when his boyfriend finally closed the distance between them. 

Frank couldn’t bring himself to kiss Gerard on the mouth—not after where his lips had been and what he’d been made to do with them for those other men—so he instead kissed him on the cheek. He wanted to pull away as soon as he made contact, but forced himself to keep his lips pressed against Gerard’s smooth cheek a few moments longer. When he finally pulled back, Gerard nuzzled the top of Frank’s head—kissing his temple gently and briefly as though he didn’t think Frank would notice—and then stepped away. 

“I love you, Baby,” Gerard said, smiling nervously.

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Frank mumbled, looking away and then moving to crawl back into his bunk. 

“Would it make you mad if I took a nap too?” Gerard asked, fidgeting as Frank started to pull shut the curtain on his bunk.

“No. Why would I be mad? I don’t want you to _go away,_ Gerard. I just don’t want touched. My body hurts a lot. It hurts when you touch me, not when you’re _around_ me.”

“So I can…sleep in the bunk above you?”

“Or under,” Frank said quickly, his mind rejecting the idea of anyone being above him in any way. “Wherever you want,” he added, afraid Gerard would catch on to what was making him nervous. Gerard was a victim, too. He knew what signs to recognize and Frank did _not_ want Gerard to know what had happened.

He didn’t want anyone to know.


	23. And Never Be Afraid Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little sticky at the end, but bear with me, something big is coming....

_Chapter 23_

Gerard lay in the bunk underneath Frank’s, listening helplessly as his lover shifted in his sleep. Every now and then Frank whimpered or let out a small cry of fear and Gerard fought to keep himself from getting up and waking him. It hurt to hear Frank suffering, but Frank had asked Gerard not to touch him. Waking him was touching him…and Frank didn’t want touched. He didn’t want kissed or hugged or cuddled. He wanted Gerard to keep his distance.

But that was so hard to do when Frank was lying overtop of him crying in his sleep. 

Whenever Gerard had nightmares, Frank was _always_ there to hold him and comfort him. It was so agonizing to not be able to offer Frank the same affection. He _deserved_ to be held after what had happened to him. Gerard wanted nothing more than to fit himself into Frank’s bunk beside him and create a barrier between Frank and the outside world—the world that had hurt him. 

It was so painful, so heart-wrenching and soul-crushing to see Frank this low. Frank who had always been the tough one, the defender, the dominant figure in Gerard’s life. Now he was in the same place Gerard had been many times. Broken. Crying. Devastated. 

Gerard remembered what it had been like the night Frank had come home late from the diner, the night his diner had been held up and he had gotten stabbed. Frank had been shaken then, but he’d wanted held. He’d wanted kissed. He’d wanted sex that same night… The near-death experience had made him thirst for life, inspired him to want more out of life than what their mundane setup had to offer.

This time, Frank wasn’t passionate. He wasn’t inspired to get more out of life. This time, Frank appeared to have given in and what Ray had said to Gerard earlier that day—that if he kept pushing Frank, Frank might _leave_ them—made him fearful that something much worse had happened to him in the parking lot that night. 

He tried to keep his thoughts subdued, too many fears and bad memories bubbling up as he raced through all the possible horrors that could’ve happened to Frank while his bandmates and friends were off playing on stage without him. He’d been beaten. He’d been cut. He’d been _stabbed._ He’d been dragged across a parking lot, pushed through a narrow gap in a chain-link fence, dragged around the back of the venue where no one could see him, and then dumped into the garbage bin as though he were trash. 

All this had been done to him by someone on tour with them—someone he saw every night. 

Gerard _swore_ he would get revenge for Frank. He knew who had to have done it, and he knew why, but he didn’t want to confess that he had no idea what he could possibly do to hurt Bert and his posse the same amount that they’d hurt Frank.

He wanted them to be scared. He wanted them to cower at the sight of Frank the way Frank cowered at the sight of them. To take someone as proud and strong as Frank and reduce him to fits of shaking and dry heaves. 

Gerard just didn’t know how to do it. If he wasn’t careful, it would be him in the dumpster and Gerard knew it. That would kill Frank. Similarly, if he wasn’t _careful_ they could come back and hurt Frank worse just to torture him. Gerard couldn’t let that happen. 

But he couldn’t let them get away with this.

“Stop it! Stop it! _Stop!_ ” Frank’s voice tore through the bus, overpowering the unending hum of the spinning tires. After his words turned to a loud scream, he began sobbing and gasping for air. 

Gerard couldn’t take hearing it anymore and flung himself out of his bunk and wasted no time pulling open the curtain of Frank’s. His lover screamed and shrank back against the wall, still too far gone to realize what was happening and that Gerard was coming to help him not hurt. 

“It’s okay,” Gerard said before shushing Frank and carefully leaning into the bunk to reach him. Frank flinched away from the touch so hard that he smacked his head against the wall of the bus, cutting his screams short. Gerard flipped on the tiny lamp toward the head of the bunk so Frank could see his surroundings and know he wasn’t in the parking lot or being tossed into the dumpster. “Hey—hey, it’s just me. It’s just me, Frankie. Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay…”

Frank kept taking choked-off, shaky gasps, even as Gerard stroked his hair and moved the stands away from his face. His face was soaked with tears and his lips were shiny and smeared with spit.

“I’m here,” Gerard said as he smoothed Frank’s hair. “You’re safe. I love you, Frankie. I’m going to keep you safe. Okay? I’m here.”

Frank laid there watching him, struggling to take an even breath. He kept crying, and stared at Gerard with big, vacant eyes until Ray had crawled out of his bunk and moved to stand behind Gerard. 

“Give him some room to breathe,” Ray said, gently. He was suggesting it more than he was commanding. He had no idea how to help Frank feel better.

When Gerard attempted to pull back to speak to Ray, Frank gasped and reached out quickly, snagging the sleeve of Gerard’s shirt and holding it tightly. 

“Don’t go,” he whispered, his voice trembling. 

“I won’t go,” Gerard said, offering Frank a soft smile and reaching his other hand into the bunk to resume stroking Frank’s hair. “It’s okay. I’m here. No one can hurt you here. I’m going to keep you safe.”

“Will you sleep here?” Frank asked, blinking rapidly and then looking around his bunk. “Can you fit?”

“You really want me to?” Gerard asked.

“Please?” Frank asked, swallowing hard and clenching his fist around the sleeve of Gerard’s shirt. 

“Okay. It’ll be okay, Frank, I promise.” Gerard carefully fit himself into the bunk, trying not to press against Frank’s body but unable to keep any space between them in the narrow bed. He kept stroking Frank’s hair, and worked at pulling his sleeve away from Frank’s hand so he could entwine their fingers. He wanted to press a kiss to Frank’s forehead, but feared it would make Frank ask him to leave. 

“Gerard?”

“Yeah, Baby?” Gerard whispered.

Frank kept stammering, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words—or couldn’t bring himself to utter them. Then he just broke back down crying and pressed his face into Gerard’s chest. Gerard kissed the top of his head and nuzzled him, trying to think of anything he could do to offer comfort. 

Gentle touches didn’t help. Kisses didn’t help. Nice words didn’t help. Singing didn’t help. 

Frank cried and cried until long after the bus had come to a stop. Long after Ray, Bob, and Mikey had gotten up and left the bunkroom. By that time, however, his sobs had become nothing more than wheezes.

“Frank?”

“What?” Frank’s voice was so raw it pained Gerard just to hear it. 

“What do you think…about houseplants?”

_“What?”_ Frank snapped, sounding offended by the offhand question. Gerard had meant for it to distract him from the bad memories, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“Houseplants… Do you like them? We don’t have any.”

“I don’t… _What?_ ” Frank started sobbing again.

“Plants are pretty. I like flowers. Do you like flowers, Frank?”

“Gerard, please stop,” Frank said, shaking his head and pulling his hand free of Gerard’s.

“We could get a cactus for on the bus. What do you think?”

“Cactus?” Frank said, as though he didn’t understand the word. 

“Like a little one. Like they sell at Wal-Mart. Just a little one. What do you think?”

“Where would we put a cactus?” Frank asked, sniffing and slowly inching his hand back toward Gerard’s.

“Near the window in the main area… We could tape the pot down with something so it won’t fall down.”

“Why do you want a cactus?” Frank asked, sniffing again and wrapping his hand around Gerard’s. 

“They can be colorful. We can watch it bloom. It can be our baby.”

“Our cactus baby?” Frank asked, choking out a small laugh and letting his head come to rest against Gerard’s chest again. 

“Mhm. You can name it if you want.”

“Name our cactus?” Frank asked, making himself laugh a little more. Gerard could tell it was forced, but a forced laugh was better than tears. Frank was at least trying to put the bad feelings behind him.

“Mhm. Or we could get a little…they have those little starter sets with all the different kinds. You could name half and I could name half and—”

“And we’d have a cactus babies?” Frank asked, his laugh genuine this time. 

“Like a cactus nursery.”

“We should do that,” Frank said, shifting around a little in the narrow space that he had. “But won’t Mikey get jealous if you buy me a bunch of cactuses and he doesn’t get one?”

“Cacti.”

“What?”

“Cacti, not cactuses.”

“You’re a nerd,” Frank mumbled.

“We could let Mikey name one of our cactuses, but we’ll call it whatever we want to when he’s not in the room,” Gerard said, managing to get a small giggle out of Frank. That laugh gave him hope. If Frank could still giggle like he used to—even if it was a sadder, softer version of what his laugh used to be—then he could get better. Things would go back to the way they were before and Frank would be alright. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank sat on the couch in the green room, watching everyone in his band get their makeup on. His backup player was getting makeup applied too, and Frank found himself glaring at the other guy even though he knew the boy deserved none of the hatred. He was young, not even old enough to drink though he was more than a little tipsy backstage, but he was talented. He respected Frank, too, and that made it hard to hate him. He asked Frank for tips about how to play his parts better, talking about plans to start his own band someday when his best friend finished college. 

It was hard to believe this kid had plans to start his own band when played for Frank so often. Some fans were starting to acknowledge him. Soon, Frank felt, this kid would be the new rhythm guitarist and there would be no place left for Frank in the band. 

“Frankie, are you sure you don’t want to play tonight?” Gerard asked. Frank hadn’t noticed him walking over and flinched when he realized Gerard was sitting next to him on the couch.

“No. I don’t want to play tonight. I told you that earlier; I _can’t,_ ” Frank snapped.

“Okay… I’m sorry, it’s just you look so upset. I don’t know what to say to help.”

“Well getting on stage and fucking up in front of hundreds of people isn’t going to help.”

“You wouldn’t fuck up, Frank. It’s not the same without you—”

“Don’t put this shit on me!” Frank yelled. He didn’t mean to yell, he didn’t mean to get angry, but wrath was so easy to lean on to mask how much pain he was in. “If _your_ sound sucks that your own fucking fault!”

“That’s not what I—Why are you _yelling_ at me? I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well you can’t, so leave me alone.”

Gerard didn’t move, and he was quiet for a long time. Frank stared at the floor, feeling his heart pounding in his chest until the pressure made him feel dizzy. He felt like he might start crying and he didn’t _want_ to. He was sick to death of crying, and he didn’t want the new kid seeing him look so pathetic. 

“I want you to play so I can see you. I can’t protect you if you’re back here and I’m out there.”

“I don’t need your fucking protection,” Frank said, standing up from the couch. He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want Gerard pushing it and pushing it as if _trying_ to break Frank down. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispered, getting up from the couch and going back to his chair by the mirror. 

Frank glanced over at him and caught Mikey giving him a death glare. If it weren’t for Mikey, Frank would’ve died that night. Frank couldn’t decide whether or not to be thankful for that or resentful. If he’d just died he wouldn’t have to spend every day feeling like there was a war going on in his head. If he’d died he wouldn’t be around to yell at Gerard and make him feel bad for showing concern. If he were dead, he wouldn’t hurt anymore. If he could just _die_ from the pain, he wouldn’t be able to hurt Gerard anymore.

It felt like his entire world had just come down around him and any walls or boards left standing, he kicked them down on his own until there was nothing left. It would probably be better if he did just go home, if he did quit the band, if he did let the new kid take over. He wouldn’t have to feel conflicted. The argument in his head would stop.

Even if he got home and realized it wasn’t what he wanted, it would be over. There was no going back if he quit and maybe that utter helplessness would finally stop the war in his brain. And if not…

If not, he would have that tiny little house all to himself. No one around to stop him or protect him from himself.

Frank shook his head violently and walked over to the mirror where Gerard was sitting. He didn’t want to go there. He _couldn’t_ let his thoughts go there. If he killed himself, they won. They defeated him. He couldn’t let them win. Even if he couldn’t prosecute them or escape from them after what they’d done, he couldn’t give them the satisfaction of driving him to suicide. 

“Gerard, I… I’m sorry,” Frank said, forcing himself to rub Gerard’s arm and make gentle contact. “I’m not mad at you, I’m—”

“I know,” Gerard said quickly, flashing Frank a smile that hardly looked convincing. “I understand.”

It made Frank angry when he said that. He _understood?_ He had _no idea_ how much pain Frank was still in. Gerard never had to _hide_ what had happened to him. Gerard had had countless people ready to support him when he had a bad dream. He never had to keep secrets from his family or his friends for the sake of a band or a dream. Gerard didn’t have to worry about Frank breaking on him if he leaned on him too heavily. 

“I mean…I get that you’re stressed out,” Gerard said, reading Frank’s expression and immediately losing the grin on his face. “I know it’s not personal.” 

Frank sighed heavily and glanced at his bandmates who were all watching him either through the mirrors or out of the corner of their eyes. In that moment he hated all of them. They weren’t his friends. They were people he was stuck with. 

“Do you want to…go somewhere to talk?” Gerard asked, trying to sound kind. 

_“No,”_ Frank snapped. 

“Okay,” Gerard said. 

Frank went back over to the couch and sank back onto the worn cushion. He wanted to go outside for fresh air and maybe to bum a cigarette off someone, but he couldn’t work up the courage. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t _like_ being terrified. He wished he could be as content to be scared shitless as Gerard always had. Gerard _loved_ being a victim. Gerard found ways to be the victim in any situation. Frank envied that. He wished he could just lie on the floor and blubber like a baby, soaking up all the attention. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that pathetic and shameless. 

Frank punched the arm of the couch and stood back up.

“Frank?” Gerard turned around to face him, looking so uncertain. Looking like _he_ was the victim just because he couldn’t handle getting yelled at.

“Leave me alone,” Frank said, making his way out of the room. Once he was in the hall he just kept walking, making sure to keep tabs on his surroundings. He managed to find the bathrooms and went in even though he didn’t have to go. 

He stood in front of the cracked mirror above the sink, reading the graffiti over and over so he didn’t have to look at his own face. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard couldn’t take it anymore. Not the crying, not the clinging followed by the shoving, followed by the screaming followed by the apologies. It was too much. He couldn’t keep up with Frank and it seemed every time he calmed him down, Frank would go from being sad to angry—and Gerard was tired of being his punching bag.

_They_ had hurt Frank. They had _tortured_ him.

Gerard watched Bert and his bandmates as they performed their sound check, and then turned his focus to hunting down the backup players. He’d been planning for weeks for this, and he thought he finally had a plan that just might work to keep them rattled—keep them from laughing at Frank whenever they saw him. They would laugh, Frank would cower; Gerard would try to comfort him, Frank would yell at him. 

Gerard was sick to death of getting yelled at.

He spotted one of the backup players buying weed off one of the other bands’ drummer and made sure to stay hidden as he followed the man through the walkways out the backdoor. He hesitated for a moment after the door closed, fearful that the group would gathered just outside. If they caught him off guard instead of the other way around, he knew he would be their next target. 

They’d gotten away with nearly murdering Frank since he refused to confess their names. As far as they were concerned, they could get away with murder. 

Cautiously, Gerard pushed the door open a crack and listened. The wind hissed through the gap between the metal door and frame and he had to push it a little more in order to hear more than the shrill whistle. It was still bright out, but the parking lot (from what Gerard could see through the gap) was vacant of people although crowded with busses and vans. 

He could hear voices in the distance and swallowed hard before stepping outside. There was no place for him to hide if the backup players decided to turn around, but they seemed focused on their boisterous conversation. 

As he began to follow them, Gerard strived to channel all of the rage he had in his soul. It was easy to summon a spark—a spark was all he ever needed to write his lyrics and sing them with conviction—but he would need pure hatred to enact his plans. If there was any shred of doubt or fear left in him, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He would never get his revenge. He would never prove to Frank how deep his love for him truly ran…

Gerard forced himself to think about anything and everything that infuriated him—Frank being hurt, someone defiling Frank and then _laughing_ about it, chucking Frank’s body into a dumpster like garbage. He thought about Master, and Adam, and Trainer. He thought about all the injustices done to him—all the awful things that had happened to him that put him in the same state as Frank. He even thought about his father and how his father used to try to keep him and Frank apart.

If it was a memory that struck a chord of bitterness in him, Gerard called it to mind until his fists were clenched—his nails biting into his skin—and his teeth were piercing the inside of his bottom lip. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as he peered at the backup players who were breaking into The Used’s bus. 

It was better than Gerard could have ever planned it. The initial plan to separate and destroy was abandoned. Now he wanted them together—together in one big rig with only one real doorway out. 

Gerard found his lips curling into a devilish smirk as he watched them close themselves off from the rest of the world. They would be in that bus for hours and Gerard knew it—drinking all the liquor and getting high off their drugs and all the ones they would find hidden in Bert’s secret places on the bus. 

It was perfect. 

Gerard was going to get them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is set to be action packed and rife with delectable terror.


	24. The Missing Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my last update was actually chapter 25 and I forgot to upload the actual chapter 24....Not sure how I managed to do that and didn't catch it until now, but if you want there to be less mystery in what Gerard did to the backup players, please read this chapter.

_Chapter 24_

It was amazing, Gerard thought, all the things you could learn online. So many people seeking help on so many different projects. It wasn’t hard at all to look up…engines. Or fuel lines. Or break lines. Or pictures showing where they were on specific models of specific Volvo busses. Oh there weren’t just _pictures,_ there were diagrams. There were _videos_ although Gerard didn’t have enough battery life to watch them. So many people, it seemed, wanted to fix their very own _massive_ buses. Why, there were people who wanted to replace fuel lines and there were even people who wanted to replace _gas tanks._

That had been Gerard’s favorite discovery.

Gerard had just gotten everything ready when his phone rang—Ray calling him to ask if he intended to come to sound check. Gerard said he needed space and that he trusted them to be able to get their equipment in order before it was time for them to go on stage after the first two performances. 

It just served to remind him of the time crunch, though. He needed to get this work done and get back to the venue before The Used finished performing. He had an urge only Bert could satisfy, and it wasn’t an opportunity he would ever let pass him by. Either it all happened tonight, or it all went by the wayside. 

And Gerard wasn’t letting this go. He wanted Frank to sleep soundly tonight. He didn’t want to hear one more shaky, shrill whimper or so much as a sniff. He wanted Frank to be content and _quiet._ He wanted Frank to feel safe enough to sleep. So fucking safe his brain didn’t feel the need to torture him with gruesome imagery and bad memories. 

There was a loud spatter as fluid hit the concrete and Gerard rolled away in time to avoid having the gasoline pour onto his body. The bus was parked on a slight incline, making the fluid run along the pavement toward the front of the bus and the picked apart fuel line. 

Gerard moved away from the bus, leaving it untouched for the moment. He wanted to act fast, but he needed to be patient. If he acted now, everything would be too rushed. He needed to wait for The Used to go on stage before he did anything else. 

The backup players weren’t going anywhere. They weren’t needed. They were going to stay on that bus getting wasted and high until they passed the fuck out. And if they tried to leave, Gerard would spot them. 

Gerard couldn’t remember breathing or blinking the entire time he watched the bus from the safe space of the venue’s back door. It was out of his line of vision, honestly, but he felt he could still see its outline through the shadows, through the lamplight, through all the other vehicles in the way. Inside he could hear the booming sound of the band on stage. It irritated him because it meant he couldn’t exactly hear it if the backup players decided to leave the bus, but he kept himself calm with the idea that if they did leave they would probably come out howling in their drunken stupor.

He didn’t know how long he waited, but when he got a text from Mikey telling him that they were on next after Bert and that he needed to get his ass back to the venue, Gerard knew it was time to act.

( ) ( ) ( )

“You smell like gasoline,” Frank mumbled as Gerard hugged him as he prepped to go on stage. “And beer.”

“Well, I was drinking with Mikey,” Gerard said, kissing Frank’s temple. It was the only part of Frank’s body he could kiss without having Frank pull away, or hiss, or shudder in disgust. One day, he would get Frank to trust him enough to say why it was he didn’t like kisses anymore. One day. But Gerard would never push it. He would be kind and sweet until Frank trusted him again. 

“In a gas tanker? Why do you smell like gasoline?” Frank asked again, pulling away from Gerard and crinkling his nose. 

“Is it that bad?”

_“Yes!_ It’s _horrible._ ”

“Hm…” Gerard looked down at his outfit and then looked at Frank. “If I can’t wash the smell off will you go get me my spare shirt from the bus for me?”

“No! No I _won’t_ go get your spare shirt for you!” Frank said, looking hurt. “I’m not—I’m not going out there! What’s _wrong_ with you?” Frank turned away from him and went to sit down on the couch again.

Gerard sighed and went to wash up in the bathroom. He even made a point to wash the sleeves of his shirt just in case, but couldn’t tell if the smell of gasoline was gone or not. It hardly mattered. By the end of his performance he would smell of nothing but heat and sweat. So long as he didn’t get near any of the building officials who would have to be aware by now of the fire in the parking lot even if The Used was still playing on stage as if nothing were amiss. 

It made Gerard laugh. The old saying was true—whatever happens, “the show must go on.” Four men were fucking burning to death outside, but the show must go on!

Gerard started laughing harder as he washed himself up. He sniffed at his shirt and cringed when he found the smell of gasoline embedded in the fibers. 

If he walked around the venue smelling of gasoline he was going to get caught. 

The panic started to nibble at him, but Gerard fought it. What stench was stronger than gasoline? Booze. And Gerard knew where to get booze. 

There were bottles of it lying around backstage. Gerard used to steal little sips from them when no one was looking—or steal the whole bottle and down it in a bathroom stall. Gerard grabbed a bottle of whisky with enough for maybe four or five shots still swirling around the bottom and looked around. A couple people were watching him, and Gerard made use of the acting skills his master had ingrained in his mind. He feigned distress, forced tears that marred his makeup even more, and then dumped the bottle of whisky down his front—pretending he couldn’t get it in his mouth.

After the whisky he found vodka, after vodka he found beer—after two beers an intimidating mother fucker with a face tattoo told him to knock it off and threatened to break a bottle over his head if he caught him stealing any more of his band’s liquor. Gerard scurried away and waited backstage for Bert to finish. 

About twenty minutes before The Used’s set was to end, a stage hand ran past him speaking into a headset about a fire.


	25. How Much You Mean to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I accidentally uploaded this chapter without having uploaded the beginning of it...which has now been poster as Chapter 24 "The Missing Piece" (named so because it was missing when this was posted). Sorry! But everything is in order now so it's not a giant fucking time leap between Gerard planning to get people and people having been gotten... 

_Chapter 25_

Bert was on cloud nine when he left the stage. It wasn’t just the drugs in his system, it was also the endorphins and adrenaline in his veins. It was the sort of high he only got from performing a great show for a great audience. Being applauded and surrounded by people cheering his name boosted his ego more than anything else in the world.

But that high came crashing down around him as soon as he spotted Gerard fucking Way hurrying toward him from backstage. His makeup was a mess even though he had yet to perform and his clothes were damp. Before he even reached Bert, the stench of alcohol struck his nose almost making him gag which was an incredible feat since Bert spent a lot of time in dingy bars and less than cleanly greenrooms. 

Gerard was trashed. It was the worst Bert had seen him since their little “break up.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Bert snapped.

“Hey, you want me to take care of him?” one of the backstage security guards asked.

“Mind your own fucking business,” Bert said, glaring at the man and closing the distance between him and Gerard. He shoved him once, hard, and huffed out a laugh when Gerard nearly fell to the ground. 

The security guard tried to get between them, but Bert pushed him away as well. He didn’t need these two blowing his high and it enraged him that Gerard still had the ability to hurt him even after they’d gone so long without speaking to each other. 

“What the hell do you want?” Bert asked again.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard slurred, gagging and clutching his stomach as if Bert had punched him instead of pushed him. 

“Yeah, you’d better be fuckin’ sorry. You had people saying I tried to kill your little boy toy Frank.”

“Bert, please— _please,_ listen to me. I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

“You never _meant_ for this shit to happen?”

“No, Baby. I—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ call me that,” Bert said, his voice a harsh whisper. 

“Bert—”

“No! What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t just rip my fuckin’ heart out and then come crawling back expecting me to go for a round two. You’re nothing by a lying, sleazy whore, Gerard. A _lying,_ _sleazy whore.”_

“I love you,” Gerard said, blinking back tears. “I never meant… Oh, Bert, please. Please listen to me. Can we talk? _Please._ ”

Bert looked around at the people rushing past them. His bandmates were watching him from the far wall, Quinn perking up when he noticed Bert staring and tilted up his chin to ask Bert if he wanted backup. Bert looked away, searching for the usual techs and stagehands that were typically crowding the place. There were less techs around even though they needed to be setting up for Gerard’s show and security was practically absent. 

“Bert? _Please._ Please, just let me talk to you. I _miss_ you. I don’t know what to do without you.”

Bert looked down at Gerard in disgust. He looked _genuine._ Even though the reek of booze, he looked so desperate and genuinely distressed. 

Bert shook his head and looked away from him again. No. He was _not_ going to do this. Yeah, he may have toyed with Gerard a bit. Maybe he had gotten too rough, but he hadn’t deserved the way Gerard treated him in the end. Gerard just quit talking to him. Stopped answering texts, refused to answer the phone—or _would_ answer the phone and not say anything at all. It was so immature and uncalled for. If he didn’t want to date anymore, he should’ve grown a pair and said so, not string Bert along.

“Bert?” Gerard sobbed.

“Fine. Come here.” Bert walked past Gerard and led him back to The Used’s dressing room. His bandmates made to follow him, but Bert made a dismissive gesture with his hand and they all took the hint and kept their distance. 

As soon as they reached the dressing room, Bert closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring daggers at Gerard—the asshole who broke his heart and had the nerve to pin the blame on him for all of it. 

“What?” Bert snapped.

“I miss you,” Gerard said, blinking back more tears. “I really do, Bert. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re smart, and you’re—you’re so talented and beautiful. I love you, Bert. Please forgive me. _Please._ ”

“No! You and your shit band tried to pin _attempted murder_ on me!”

“I had _nothing_ to do with that!” Gerard wept. “Bert, baby, I love you. Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t _do_ this? You’re shit-faced. Okay? You need to go sleep it off—or better yet, go do your fucking show and, I know, maybe fall off the fuckin’ edge of the stage and break your goddmaned neck.”

“Bert—”

“Shut up! You’re so fucking selfish, Gerard. You wouldn’t even _tell_ me you wanted to break up or, hell, you wouldn’t even tell me you had another fuckin’ boyfriend the whole time.”

For a moment Gerard started to look guilty, but then something else sparked through his eyes and when Gerard met his gaze again, there was sick determination on his face.

“Let me apologize, Bert, then I’ll go away. I don’t want these bad things between us. What we had was beautiful and if…if I can’t have it back just let me… Bert, _please._ ”

“Please _what!?_ What the fuck do you want from me? We’re done. Okay? I’m _never_ dating you again. I don’t want you on my bus, I don’t want you near my _lyrics,_ I don’t want you near my band. We’re over. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

“I wanna apologize. Please, Bert. Let me say I’m sorry then…then I’ll never bother you again. Not for anything.”

“No matter what you say to me, it’s not gonna change anything.”

“I don’t wanna say it,” Gerard whispered, sounding like a little kid. A little _drunk_ kid. Then he got that look on his face—a look Bert knew well.

_Oh._

There wasn’t time to have a proper scene—the type of revenge scene Bert had had in mind since the first time Gerard started ignoring his calls. He envisioned whips and clamps and toys and blood—anything to cause Gerard pain. But there wasn’t time for that here. Bert probably wouldn’t even be able to get ten lashes in before Gerard would be needed on stage. 

“That’s fucked up. And we don’t have time. Your show is gonna start in like ten minutes,” Bert said, rolling his eyes. It irked him that the thought of Gerard’s body, trembling before him in pain and anticipation, was _still_ arousing. Maybe it was even more erotic since Bert had little to no affection left for the man. 

“Please, Bert. I won’t take long. I’ll do what you always wanted,” Gerard said, swallowing hard and stepping a little closer. Bert cringed at the smell of alcohol on him but couldn’t bring himself to pull away when Gerard kissed his jaw, then his neck.

Gerard took a deep inhale and moaned, as if he _liked_ the way Bert smelled after being on stage—bathed in heat and sweat. 

“Fuck, fine,” Bert said, trying not to moan as memories of Gerard started infiltrating his mind. That moan broke out, however, when he felt Gerard’s hands fumbling with his belt and zipper. He moaned even harder when saw Gerard drop to his knees in front of him.

It was happening. Fuck. They’d broken up, but it was _finally_ happening. Gerard had _always_ refused to give blowjobs, now he was drunk and compliant. He didn’t even whimper in protest when Bert fisted his hand in his hair and yanked him forward. 

Gerard ran his lips along Bert’s shaft and grunted a little before opening his mouth. As soon as his lips closed around the head, Bert thrust his hips forward and kept Gerard’s head pinned, forcing him to deep throat immediately. Gerard let out a noise like a scream, muffled by the thickness of Bert’s cock, heavy on his tongue. 

“Yeah, you like that? You want that?” Bert hissed, not caring how sleazy it sounded. He’d dreamed of this. He’d _fantasized_ about this all the time when he and Gerard had been together and the stupid slut refused to give it to him. Now they broke up and Gerard was trying to use it as a method to get Bert to take him back.

Bert would _never_ take him back, but he would _gladly_ fuck up his pretty little throat before he went on stage. He could almost cum on the spot thinking about how bad Gerard would sound when he sang, _knowing_ he would be the reason for it. 

He started yanking Gerard’s head forward, driving himself deeper and deeper into Gerard’s throat while the man below him whimpered and moaned. The little sounds of pain made the sensation that much more intoxicating, all of it swirling into a mass of pleasure as he felt Gerard’s tongue sliding along the underside of his shaft. 

“Hope you fuckin’ choke,” Bert moaned, licking his lips as Gerard swallowed around him before he stared bobbing his head up and down quickly, willingly deep throating no matter how many times he gagged or struggled to breathe. 

When Gerard looked up at him with wet, bleary eyes, Bert stared smirking. He loved how hot Gerard looked with his mouth stretched around a thick cock. It was how he was _meant_ to look. His whole fucking body was made to be used like this. What Bert wouldn’t give to watch Gerard be put to good use again—not by him, but maybe by someone else. There had to be another man on tour with them who would be willing to take Gerard and use him like the whore he was. 

Bert moaned and let his head fall back against the dressing room door as he felt the warmth pool in the pit of his stomach. He was close, so fucking close—and then that fucking slut pulled off and started panting.

“The fuck?” Bert spat, glaring down at him and fisting his fingers tighter in the other man’s long hair. 

“Bert, did you tell them…to do it?”

“Tell who to do what?” Bert snapped, trying to yank Gerard forward only to have the other man close his mouth so that all Bert could do was rub his cock against his lips. “Tell who to do _what!?_ ” He snapped. If he gave Gerard his answer, he hoped the man would get back to work. If Gerard tried to walk off with Bert still at the edge, Bert felt he was prepared to beat the shit out of him right then and there. He didn’t care if he got cut from the tour or not.

“The people who beat up Frank. Did you tell them to do it?”

“Oh, God. Jesus Christ, Gerard. Fuck—No. Okay? They did it on their own. Now come on. Come on!” Bert yelled when Gerard still pressed his lips together when Bert tried to thrust into his mouth. “What!?”

“Did you know they were gonna hurt him?”

“Fuckin’ hell—Yes! Sure, fine. Yeah, I figured, okay? I figured they would but Jesus Christ I didn’t tell them to _kill_ him. I wasn’t trying to kill your fuckin’ boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, looking up and Bert and then opening his mouth wide, letting his tone poke out just enough to cover his lower row of teeth. 

Bert hesitated to thrust back inside, but when he noticed that Gerard had unzipped his own pants and was hurriedly stroking himself his aversion vanished. The guy was drunk and he always had liked to talk. It was so like Gerard to interrupt a good blowjob to use his mouth to whine like a little bitch about things that had happened weeks ago. 

Bert pulled Gerard forward by his hair and thrust hard into the back of his throat. Gerard gagged, but never broke eye contact with Bert, even when tears started running down his cheeks. He held Gerard’s head in place as he fucked his mouth, working himself back up. 

Then, just as he was about to reach the edge yet again, a new sensation struck him. There was just enough time for his eyes to widen in shock before he felt sharp teeth clamp down on him with all their force.

“Fuck!” Bert tightened his hold on Gerard’s hair in an attempt to pull him back—pull him _off_ —but when that just caused more mind-numbing pain to shoot through him, he let go of Gerard’s hair in favor of punching him on top of the head as hard as he could, desperate to make him let go before he _bit his fucking dick off._ “Get off! Christ, get off me! What the fuck!? _What the fuck!?_ ” He couldn’t even be embarrassed at how shrill his voice had become, because with each blow to Gerard’s head those teeth were driven deeper and deeper until Gerard decided to let go as spontaneously as he had chosen to clamp down. “What the fuck!?” Bert yelled again as he sank to the floor, his hands covering his groin. He was too scared to check for blood—horrible images flashing in his mind. Had he bitten all the way through? Could doctors even _fix_ that!?

He looked up through his tears when he felt a wad of Gerard’s spit strike his cheek. The man was standing over him, swaying a little in his drunkenness. Bert expected him to say something profound like “that’s what happens when you touch Frank” or “that’s what you get for breaking my heart,” but Gerard was silent. He grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door into Bert’s back in an attempt to open it until Bert rolled away enough to allow the door to be opened. 

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” Bert hissed. “Fuckin’…Goddamnit!”

No other insults came to him as he curled into a ball on the dressing room floor. He hoped his bandmates would come soon—hoped they would come before a stagehand or any of the VIP guests at the show who wanted his autograph. Never before had he ever experienced so much pain—it blotted out all of his thoughts and all of his senses. It was complete and utter agony.

( ) ( ) ( )

The whole time he performed on stage, Gerard’s mind was spinning with excuses and stories and lies he would tell the cops if they decided to ask him any questions. He most definitely would be a prime suspect now that he’d bitten Bert… He’d tried to talk himself out of doing it, but couldn’t help it. Bert was the one who sicced those men on Frank and for that he deserved to suffer. Gerard still cared about him too much to kill him though or set him on fire and ruin his pretty face. 

During one of his songs Gerard almost had a panic attack, fearing that Bert would press charges against him for assault, but then he realized the last thing Bert would want in the news was a story about him getting bitten during a blowjob with another man. 

Then, halfway through the show, the lights snapped on much to the audience members’ chagrin and Gerard closed his eyes and let his acting job begin. He pretended that he didn’t understand what was happening. Even when he was being ushered off stage he kept trying to speak into his mic until it was cut off. 

“What the fuck?” Gerard asked the members of security who led him and his bandmates back to the greenroom where Frank was sat wide-eyed and trembling. He was staring at the floor and wouldn’t look at Gerard. There was a police officer in the room with a notepad and Gerard stepped up his game just a little more. “Frank, what happened?” He asked.

He hurried to kneel on the floor in front of Frank and grabbed his face even though he knew it would terrify Frank. It gave the desired effect because Frank flinched away and Gerard could pretend the action was out of character and continue behaving as though he thought Frank had been hurt. 

“What happened? Frank? You can tell me. Did someone hurt you? Are you okay?” 

“It’s not me,” Frank whimpered, trying to turn his face away from Gerard who kept grabbing it and turning it this way and that in search of bruises or marks he knew Frank didn’t have. “Stop it! It’s not me!” Frank slapped Gerard’s hands away and Gerard, making sure to keep a look of drunken fear and confusion on his face, turned to look up at the cop. 

“What the fuck is happening?” Gerard asked, using any memory he could think of to make himself anxious and sad. “Did—Did you catch the guys who did this to him? Is that what this is?”

“Sir, the reason we stopped your show is because there was a fire in the parking lot tonight. We believe it was arson and a few people got hurt,” the officer said, scanning everyone’s faces in search of any suspicious reaction. 

“But…But not _Frank,_ ” Gerard said, looking from the cop to Frank and reaching up to smooth his boyfriend’s hair even though he knew Frank didn’t want it.

“Stop,” Frank whispered, turning away. “I’m fine.”

“Gerard, leave him alone!” Ray snapped. 

“Fuck you!” Gerard snapped, sniffing back tears. “I went on stage and everything was fine, now there’s cops and Frank’s upset and they’re talking about fires. I don’t know what’s happening!”

“Please, just stay calm, alright?” The cop said. 

“How can I stay calm!? You scared the hell out of me. _You_ scared the hell out of me,” he repeated, looking at Frank. 

“I haven’t done anything!” Frank snapped. “You’re _drunk._ Now would you just _stop?_ They need to ask us questions.”

“Fine,” Gerard said, swallowing hard and moving to sit beside Frank on the couch instead of in front of him on the floor.

“Now I just need to ask a few questions—just some housekeeping measures to try to get an idea of everybody’s movements when this happening.”

“You… You think _we_ did this?” Mikey asked, looking confused and irritable. 

“We don’t know anything yet,” the officer said. “We’re just trying to set up a schedule of events; we’re talking to everybody who may have seen something. Maybe you saw a strange person walking around, maybe there was a fan backstage you might’ve remembered. There’s a lot of people here tonight and we’ve gotta start somewhere.”

“Well who got hurt?” Ray asked. “If…If we know who, we might be able to give some more information. I know a lot of the bands get along, but there’s a couple who don’t…”

“Yeah, who got hurt?” Mikey asked.

“Let’s just do this one step at a time,” the officer said. Gerard could tell already that the man didn’t think any of them were guilty. Not yet anyway. For now, Gerard knew he was safe, but as soon as it slipped out that The Used’s bus had been targeted and that the backup players had been hurt, someone would let slip that MCR and The Used didn’t get along. Someone would mention the backup players having assaulted Gerard in the past. If that happened, Gerard would be suspect number one. 

But he’d been careful. He wiped down everything he touched—every single thing under and around that bus that he may have brushed against. He even wiped and disposed of the tools he’d used to direct the flow of the gasoline he’d spilled. As for the fire, he found a half-smoked cigarette lying beside the dumpsters, lit it and dropped it into the puddle of gasoline. Even though he knew it would be incinerated, he made sure he never touched the cigarette with his bare hands and if it somehow was recovered, his DNA wouldn’t be on it. 

As for witnesses, Gerard hadn’t seen anyone watching him. If he was spotted, he had to have blended in with all the other performs—dark hair, sunglasses, dark clothes. He looked like everyone else. Maybe for the first day or two their memories of his shape would be fresh and reliable, but as days would pass that image would become more and more hazy.

His only real fear, though, was those sick men who hurt Frank would still be alive and would point the finger at his band. To do that they would have to incriminate themselves, though. Admit they’d been the ones who had beaten Frank and left him to die. But Gerard did his best in the days before he put his plans into action to make himself invisible to them. If they pointed a finger at anyone, it would be Frank—the only person, they thought, knew had hurt him—and the cops would know that Frank hadn’t done it. He didn’t even leave the greenroom for more than ten minutes at a time.

If they lived to tell the tale, they would know deep in their hearts that someone in MCR had gotten revenge against them. They would know they deserved it and they, like Frank, would do well to keep their mouths shut. If they lived and the police turned their focus to Gerard, if they built a compelling case, Gerard would be sure to finish the job before they got ahold of him. He would find those men no matter what hospital or what city they were in and he would kill them. He would brutalize them and fill them with fear. He would make sure they saw his wrath this time as well as feel it. He wanted them to know what happens to people who think they can hurt his property—his lover, his boyfriend. 

“Can you tell us…if it was another performer who got hurt?” Ray asked when the officer was preparing to leave after his round of questioning was done. The police weren’t releasing the identities of the victims yet and that filled Gerard with hope that at least one of them was dead. 

“I can’t give specifics at this time, but it wasn’t an official member of one of your bands. No.”

“So…a tech?” Ray asked.

“Not exactly,” the officer said. “I’m not at liberty to give any more details, but I’m sure that if you ask around, one of your tour buddies could probably tell you who’s missing.” The cop left after that, looking almost annoyed that they bothered asking him questions after he’d finished his interrogation of them. 

“Shit,” Bob said, once the man had gone, an exclamation of surprise. “You think they’re gonna keep the tour going?”

“They have to,” Frank said. “This is business. It doesn’t matter if someone’s burned to death or not.” As soon as the cop was gone, Frank had started crying and Gerard felt guilt at having pushed him too far with the touches and caresses. 

“Frank, I’m sorry I kept grabbing you,” Gerard said. “I… I thought they hurt you again.”

As soon as he spoke, he felt the attention shift onto him. He’d forgotten to slur his words and he’d forgotten that when he spoke, people other than Frank could hear him. It was just so easy for him to believe that the two of them were the only two men in the world, and though he’d love to tell Frank what he’d done on his behalf, he didn’t need his bandmates knowing too. 

“No you didn’t,” Frank whispered.

“Baby, please—I was scared.”

“You smelled like gasoline,” Frank said, so quietly only Gerard heard. 

Gerard glanced at his bandmates who were watching him with suspicion in their eyes. They didn’t have to hear what Frank said to become suspicious. He scooted a little closer to Frank on the couch and put an arm around his shoulder even though Frank cringed away from him.

Gerard leaned over and pressed a kiss to Frank’s temple before nuzzling his hair. It hurt to have Frank try to pull away from him after what he’d done for him. He’d gotten revenge so Frank would never have to feel afraid again. 

He kept kissing Frank’s temple and cheek over and over so it didn’t look suspicious when he whispered in his ear. 

“I’ll never let them hurt you. I promise.”


	26. Disenchanted

_Chapter 26_

Frank lie shaking in the hotel bed. Because of the fire—because two men had died and two more had been badly injured—the police didn’t want the tour to move on until they’d collected all the evidence and conducted all the interviews they could. Everyone on tour was forced into any available hotel or motel room they could find. Busses were off limits, no vehicles were allowed in or out of the parking lot, and no one was allowed to really _leave_ lest they face more scrutiny about being involved in the homicide. 

As it was, he and Gerard had been put in a filthy little motel room that probably hadn’t been cleaned in months. Frank had already taken a shower, but lying in the bed sheets made him feel dirty again. He was panicking at the thought of what might happen to him when Gerard got done in the shower. 

Four men had been trapped in a tour bus which had been set on fire. The four men were the backup players for The Used who had no right or reason to be on that bus. The fuel lines had been ripped apart and the gas tank had been punctured. The gasoline had been set alight by a cigarette. 

Gerard had been missing the entire time The Used had been performing, but no one had mentioned that yet. Everyone just said the “whole band” was waiting backstage in the green room before the show. Frank wasn’t about to mention Gerard sneaking off. Mikey wasn’t about to mention Gerard sneaking off. _Ray_ wasn’t about to mention Gerard sneaking off. And Bob…Bob said Gerard was running around backstage stealing booze for most of that time period. 

The officer who had interviewed them fell for Gerard’s trick. Gerard played drunk well and he reeked of booze so much Frank could no longer smell the gasoline on him by that point. Whatever traces of it had been left got washed away by sweat when he’d been on stage. Gerard’s acting had been spot-on as well. He’d been terrified at the sight of the officer—terrified because he thought something bad had happened to Frank. 

Gerard gave no reason for anyone to look closer at him for the crime. 

The crime Frank _knew_ he committed. 

It wasn’t just the gasoline smell (although that was the dead giveaway), and it wasn’t just the identities of the victims that told Frank Gerard had been the one. Gerard had practically been stalking The Used and their backup players for days, never missing an opportunity to give them filthy looks or hiss at them.

Gerard had tried to kill them… Gerard had _killed_ two of them. 

Gerard was a murderer. 

The man Frank was sharing a shoddy motel room with was a murderer. 

The shower clicked off and Frank nestled down further in the bed sheets. It didn’t soothe him that Gerard had killed his enemies. It _scared_ him. Because if Gerard could kill two people and not even _flinch_ or show any hint or spark of fear in the face of the authorities, what else was he capable of? If he came into the room and wanted sex and Frank said no, would he take it by force? Would he demand Frank tell him why he was refused—a question Frank just wasn’t ready to answer—and hit him until he confessed? 

Would he tie Frank to the bed and set it on fire?

Frank was trying hard not to cry, his eyes fixed on the closed bathroom door. He heard Gerard humming to himself, but instead of comforting him it just filled him with even more terror. This wasn’t the man he knew. This wasn’t the man he loved. This was a monster. A murderer. A vicious, sadistic killer. 

A psychopath.

_Frank’s_ psychopath. Gerard had done this just for Frank. He’d gotten Frank revenge. 

Now he’d want a reward, wouldn’t he? He’d want Frank and if Frank refused…Gerard would take what was rightfully his. 

“Frankie?” Gerard asked, opening the bathroom door almost dramatically slow. Frank stared at him, trying not to look afraid. Fear would just make Gerard snap, like a shark tasting blood in the water. “I think I’m gonna walk down to the gas station and get some soda. Do you want anything?” 

Frank stared at Gerard silently. He was already redressed in his street clothes, toweling dry his hair casually. 

“Are you okay?” Gerard asked, tilting his head. When Frank still said nothing, Gerard came closer to the bed and sat down on it next to Frank. “You don’t want to be alone, huh?” He said gently, holding the towel in his lap. “Frank?”

Frank looked at him, unable to think of any words to say. Gerard didn’t _look_ dangerous. He didn’t look like he was getting ready to pounce…

“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked, setting the towel aside and reaching out to stroke Frank’s hair. Frank managed to keep from flinching, but chewed his lip hard. “Frank…no one is going to hurt you now. You don’t need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Frank lied, knowing he didn’t sound convincing. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about those men coming back for him and finishing the job, but now he had something else to worry about—many more things to worry about. 

Now he had to think about Gerard the _murderer._ He’d always had a violent streak, but he’d kept it contained in the past. He expressed his bitterness through small outburst—spilling coffee, throwing things, yelling, _biting_ if he had to—but now he’d added murder to his list of weapons. This time he killed men deserving of it. This time it had _almost_ been justified, but what would stop him from using it again on someone less deserving? What if Frank talked to someone else and it made Gerard jealous? What if Gerard killed that person just to keep them away from Frank? 

And what if he got caught? Right now it almost looked like Gerard was going to get away with it, but what if that changed? What if they found a fingerprint or a scrap of his shirt, or hell—what if there was a fucking video tape of him doing it? Gerard would go to _jail._

His lover, his reason for being, his _sweetheart_ would go to prison. Gerard wouldn’t last in jail. He was effeminate and even if he was mean, he was weak compared to the men he might encounter inside those walls. 

Gerard had risked putting himself back in a position to be brutalized on a daily basis just so Frank would no longer have to look over his shoulder in fear every day. 

Was that love? Could that be called love? 

“I’m sorry this happened, Frank,” Gerard said, continuing to pet Frank’s hair. “I just want you to feel safe, you know? I don’t want you to be afraid anymore.”

“When you’re at the store…can you buy me some coffee?” Frank asked, trying to change the conversation. He feared that there were hidden microphones in their hotel room, now. Fearful that their phones had been bugged and that the police were listening to every conversation. Though he was scared of Gerard—scared of what he was capable of doing—he didn’t want him to go to jail. He couldn’t have his dignity and then his support system both stolen from him at once. 

“Coffee?” Gerard asked. “You’ll be up all night. You need sleep. How about some fruit juice?”

“Okay,” Frank mumbled. 

“Anything else? Any…snacks or anything? Are you hungry?”

Frank shrugged and looked from Gerard to the towel and then to the bedspread. He wished beyond anything that he could just become numb to it all, but instead of the fear of being attacked Frank was now consumed with anxiety. 

He didn’t want Gerard to leave. He was scared that Gerard would do something or say something to incriminate himself and end up arrested. Gerard didn’t need to go to jail for trying to protect him. Frank didn’t want to be the person who freed Gerard from slavery only to have him locked up behind bars. 

“Gerard?”

“Yeah?”

Frank stared, unable to say what was on his mind. He didn’t want Gerard to go. 

“What, Frankie?” Gerard kept stroking his hair and Frank slowly got his hand out from under the covers in order to grab it to make him stop. “What?”

“Can you…” _Stay._ That was all Frank wanted to ask. They were alone. They had the hotel room to themselves. Frank no longer had to fear retribution if he confessed what had happened…Gerard had already done his worst. He wanted Gerard to stay. “Pick me up some chocolate? I really just…I want some chocolate.”

He let go of Gerard’s hand, disappointed in himself for not being able to bring himself to plead with his boyfriend to stay with him in the room. 

“Chocolate? Okay. Anything else?”

“No,” Frank said, shaking his head as he felt tears roll down his cheeks. 

“I won’t take long, I promise,” Gerard said, kissing Frank on the cheek even though Frank tried to turn his face away. It still felt wrong to let Gerard kiss him after all the awful things that had been on his face. No amount of soap or water ever made him feel clean. 

( ) ( ) ( )

After Gerard and Mikey left, Ray went over to Frank’s room at the motel and knocked on the door. His excuse for coming was that there weren’t enough towels in his room for him, Mikey, and Bob, but he knew Frank would realize that the towels were immaterial. It was hard to get Frank alone on the bus or at the venues and Ray really just wanted to check on his friend, see how he was doing without Gerard hovering around the corner.

Frank called out that the door was open after Ray spoke up, fearing Frank might pretend he didn’t hear the knock if he thought there was a chance his attackers—or the murderer on the loose—was outside his door. 

When Ray came into the room, Frank was wrapped up in his blankets on the bed, looking like a small child tucked in for bedtime. 

“Hey…you mind if I borrow some towels?” Ray asked. “There aren’t enough in our room.”

“Sure,” Frank mumbled, pulling his blanket up a little higher to cover his lips. 

“Tonight was crazy, huh?” Ray said, closing the door behind him and hesitating to go into the bathroom for the towels. 

“Do you think they’re bugged?”

“What?”

“Do you think they’re bugged?” Frank repeated.

“What do you…what are you talking about? Do I think _what’s_ bugged?”

“Our rooms. Do you think they’re listening to us?”

“Um…” Ray didn’t know what to make of that. Frank was never the one to go off on conspiracy theories or discuss paranoid fantasies. “I don’t know who you mean. Who would be listening to us? Brian?”

“The cops,” Frank mumbled.

“The cops? Why would they be listening to us?”

“Because someone killed those guys…”

“Yeah, but why would they be looking at us?”

“Because they’re the ones who hurt me,” Frank whispered.

He looked haunted. He never spoke of who had attacked him, but everyone on the tour assumed that it was Bert and The Used or some of his other friends—friends like the backup players. Now two of them were dead and the others were in the ICU. But there was a murderer on the loose and Frank seemed afraid that the police were going to try to pin it on him. Ray wished he could convince Frank to believe that the police had no suspicions about them or anyone else in MCR. Gerard was too wasted to plan a murder and several techs reported seeing him smoking in one of the back hallways during the entire span of time that the murders had been committed. And _everyone_ knew Frank was in the greenroom the whole time. No one thought they were guilty of this crime and by the next night they would most definitely be back on their bus heading to the next show.

“The cops didn’t bug our rooms, Frank. What’s going on?” Ray slowly stepped over to the bed and sat down on the edge so he could still look at Frank without getting too close. 

“Gerard,” Frank whispered. Ray could barely hear him.

“Gerard? What, did he hurt you?”

“He smelled like gasoline when he hugged me,” Frank whispered. 

“What?” Ray asked, wishing he’d heard Frank wrong. Gerard smelled like _gasoline?_

“Before he started stealing booze backstage, he smelled like gasoline.”

“It was just your imagination,” Ray said. Techs said they saw Gerard smoking in the hallway the whole time he was away from the other members of the band. That sounded more like Gerard—hiding away and smoking a few cigarettes—than murdering backup players. 

Besides, the police even said that the backup players were probably not the original target. They had no right to be on The Used’s bus, and it was assumed that some obsessive fans—or enemies, rather—thought that members of The Used were on board when they set it on fire. After all, why would anyone want to hurt a few nobodies?

“Ray, he did this,” Frank whispered. “I _know_ it.”

“You can’t go around talking like that,” Ray said, shaking his head. “Frank, you’re in no condition to be worrying yourself about this kind of thing. It _wasn’t_ Gerard. It _couldn’t_ have been. But if you go around saying that, people are gonna think he did.”

“Ray, he knows they hurt me. He _knows._ ”

“Look, I know Gerard has done some pretty messed up things in the past, but he’s not a murderer. You’re gonna…gonna hurt him if you accuse him of that.”

Instead of looking consoled, Frank just looked more and more devastated by the second until he let out a low, shaky sigh. 

“What’s going on, Frank?”

“I’m scared,” Frank whispered. 

“Because of the attack?” Ray asked. 

“Because of everything,” Frank whispered. 

“Frank, you swore you never saw who attacked you…how can you be so sure it even _was_ them? Gerard isn’t about to go _murder_ four people on a hunch.”

“I saw them,” Frank said, so quietly Ray could barely hear him. 

“Then why didn’t you tell the police who it was? Shit, Frank…they could’ve done it again.”

“And Gerard killed them so they couldn’t,” Frank murmured. He looked frightened—traumatized—and pulled the blankets closer to his mouth. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that they were the ones who attacked you? They would’ve gone to jail—”

“I don’t want to hear what you think would’ve happened. I passed out. My statement could be completely thrown out because of that.”

“Who told you that?” Ray asked.

“The woman…”

_“What_ woman?”

“The counselor who came to see me in the hospital. She said that my testimony would be unreliable unless we ran the DNA and I didn’t want that to happen.”

“DNA? There was DNA and you _still_ let them go?” Ray was trying hard not to yell. Frank had been creeping around the venues for weeks trying to stay beneath the radar, trying not to attract any attention at all because his attackers were still out there, and now he was saying he _knew_ who his attackers were and had _DNA evidence_ to prove it and he still did _nothing?_

“I couldn’t let that…be processed. I…” Frank wasn’t looking at him, he was staring at the bed with that same haunted look etched on his face. 

“Why?” Ray asked, keeping his tone gentle and understanding. After weeks of trying to fight through this on his own, Frank was finally opening up. Ray couldn’t criticize him and risk closing him off again.

“Didn’t want the fans to know…or the papers—the media, really. Didn’t want…Gerard to freak out or…the label to drop me.”

“Why would the label drop you for pressing charges against the guys who tried to murder you?”

“I don’t know,” Frank mumbled, sounding like a small child. “They gave us the bus so I wouldn’t say anything.”

“What?”

“The bus…they told me it was bad for publicity if it got out that I was attacked by someone on the tour. They thought the fans might not feel safe, so if I agreed not to say anything, we could have the bus.”

“Frank, this is _serious._ You almost _died._ You were seriously just going to let them get away with it so we could have _tour bus?_ ”

“If I said anything they’d cut me from the tour. It’s in our contract that we can’t get involved in any violence or…assault.” Frank looked close to tears and stopped talking. For a moment he closed his eyes as if preparing to go to sleep.

“Did they…do something else to you?” Ray asked timidly. He didn’t want Frank to lash out or _break down_ on him, but he had a feeling that something else had happened. When Frank worked at the diner, he’d been stabbed and hospitalized. That time it had spurred him to do more—to try to achieve more from his life. This time, Frank shut down. He didn’t want to perform, he didn’t want to really get out of the security and darkness of his bunk. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Frank mumbled, opening his eyes. As soon as he did, tears started falling and Ray looked away from him quickly. 

So something else had happened…

“I’d feel really… _bad_ if I told you before I told Gerard.”

“It’s fine,” Ray said, trying to force a smile for Frank who didn’t look up to see it. “I just want you to be okay, you know? I want to make sure that you know I’m here if you need me.”

“I don’t like this,” Frank said, almost as if to himself.

“What? The…the tour?”

“Everything,” Frank said, swallowing hard. “I don’t like hiding things and I don’t like being afraid that if I _tell_ Gerard, that he’ll fall apart.”

“First you think…he killed them, now you think he’ll fall apart on you?” Ray asked, trying to show Frank how unrealistic both of his fears were. He was just paranoid because of the trauma. Gerard was no killer and even if Gerard had a tendency to fall into fits of depression, he wasn’t going to let Frank down. At least not when he knew the stakes were so high.

“I can’t do this by myself anymore. I feel dead, Ray. I feel like… I would rather have died than live like this.”

“Don’t talk like that, Frank. It’ll get better. You can trust Gerard. He’s here for you.”

“You guys left me to go back on tour. No one’s here for me.”

“Gerard said it would be what _you_ wanted. I didn’t want to leave you there.”

“Why would I want to wake up alone?” Frank asked, sniffing and wiping at his eyes with the blanket. “I thought I was dead. If it weren’t for the nurses…maybe I would’ve been. I don’t know.”

“Frank, that’s not… Are you feeling suicidal?” Ray asked. He knew it did no good to be so blunt, but there was no dancing around the issue. Frank was depressed and if he’d really fallen that far, Ray wasn’t going to willingly walk out of that room knowing his best friend could harm himself as soon as he’d gone. 

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t do anything.”

_“Are you_ though?”

“Ray, leave it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Well we need to talk about it. You’re my best friend. We’ve been through a lot together. If something’s bothering you, tell me about it. We’ll work through it.” 

“I need to talk to Gerard first. He’s my boyfriend; he should know before anyone else.”

“Okay—I’m okay with that. But you have to understand, I’m worried about you. I love you, too. I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to see Gerard go to jail because of me,” Frank whispered. “I’m so afraid they’re going to arrest him. He’ll _die_ in jail. I don’t want anyone to hurt him…”

“No one’s going to hurt him. Gerard didn’t do this, Frank. You’re paranoid.”

Frank said nothing, just stared at the bed. Ray tried to coax him back into conversation, but Frank pretended to fall asleep—only the tears rolling down his cheeks betraying him—until the door opened and Gerard had returned.


	27. Desert Song

_Chapter 27_

Frank chewed his lip anxiously as he watched Ray leave—watched Ray walk out on him and leave him alone with a man capable of absolutely anything. He felt sick to his stomach, and had he had anything to eat or drink at all he was sure he would’ve started throwing up. Gerard didn’t look threatening. His face was clear when he came in with a coffee cup in one hand and two plastic bags in the other. He even smiled at Ray on his way out of the room, but it didn’t put Frank at ease. It felt as though nothing possibly could. 

“Hey. I know you wanted that coffee so I bought you decaf,” Gerard said, locking the door after Ray had gone. He came over to the bed and set the coffee cup down on the nightstand on Frank’s side of the bed and set the bags down beside Frank’s hip. “Are you okay? Did Ray say something that upset you?”

“I’m fine,” Frank whispered. 

“I got you lots of stuff,” Gerard said as he sat down beside Frank on the bed. He leaned over to wipe a few strands of hair out of Frank’s face and then turned his focus to the bags. “I got you some juice in case you don’t like the coffee and all that chocolate you wanted—I didn’t know which type was best so I got a little bit of everything. And they had some of those veggie chips you like, so I got you those, and I know you didn’t eat today so—” Gerard pulled a white paper bag out from one of the other plastic bags and set it on the bed next to the pile of chocolate, bottles of juice, and bags of chips. “—I got you a couple veggie burgers from this little restaurant across from the gas station. It’s a nice place. If we have time we should go tomorrow for lunch.”

Frank couldn’t respond to him. He just kept watching as Gerard took more and more out of the plastic bags. Gerard has spared no expense and bought pretty much everything that caught his eyes at the gas station as though food could really lift Frank’s spirits. 

“Got some…mints—but those are for me, I mean you can have some if you want them, but they’re mine. Um…Oh! I got one of those little pie thingies—it’s a chocolate one since you said you wanted chocolate.”

Gerard kept smiling at him even though he had to have noticed Frank didn’t respond to the kindness. 

“You should really eat, Frankie. At least a little bit,” Gerard said, grabbing the white paper bag and setting it closer to Frank’s head. “I’m worried about you.”

“Gerard, I’m not hungry,” Frank said quietly. He knew he needed to talk to Gerard. He had to tell him what happened. But just the thought made his stomach tighten and his heart start pounding. He was scared of how Gerard would react and no matter what he envisioned, it never ended well. In his mind, Gerard would either break down sobbing and be no help at all, or he would get angry that Frank had kept it a secret—or he would just walk out. Frank was supposed to support _him_ through _his_ tragedies, not the other way around. What use did he have for a broken boyfriend? None. For him, Frank was nothing.

The thought left him sobbing into the filthy motel pillow. Gerard would never stay with him. Why would he? Gerard was such a physical person. If he couldn’t get sex from Frank, he would find someone else. It wouldn’t be hard for him. _Everyone_ wanted Gerard. Who would want Frank? He was nothing. _Nothing._

“Frank, what’s the matter? Hey—it’s okay! Don’t cry, Baby. What’s wrong?” Gerard moved closer on the bed and started stroking Frank’s hair more and more rapidly. “Don’t cry… It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Frank sobbed, hating that those words meant almost nothing after singing them so many times. 

“Why?” Gerard asked, leaning down and kissing Frank’s cheek even though Frank tried turning his face away. “Stop that. Just tell me what’s wrong. I’m here. Talk to me.”

Gerard made it sound so easy. To just talk about it—just open his mouth and form the words. It _should_ be easy. Frank kept screaming at himself in his mind—talk, talk, just _talk_ —but he couldn’t get himself to actually do it. It _wasn’t_ that easy. To tell Gerard what happened would be to plunge the knife even deeper into his heart—killing him. To tell Gerard would be the same as killing himself.

“Frank… _please._ I’m here for you. Just talk to me.”

Speaking was impossible. Frank felt that all he could possibly do was lie there and sob—and if he wasn’t sobbing he was wailing, making himself feel even more pathetic. He was in so much pain he couldn’t keep the noises back. It really did feel like he was being stabbed again. He didn’t want to make himself more vulnerable. If he told Gerard what happened, Gerard would then have all the power in the world over him. Gerard could use it to destroy him without even having to try. 

There was just so much that could go wrong, and Frank felt that speaking a word would be the same as telling Gerard to dump him—that he was damaged and worthless and Gerard should find someone better. 

Frank couldn’t handle the thought of Gerard walking out on him. He’d never needed anyone more in his entire life than he needed Gerard with him now. If Gerard left, or if Gerard stayed but started seeing someone on the side, Frank wouldn’t make it. He would die. 

He would die...

“Frank. _Talk_ to me. It’s gonna be okay. Just tell me what’s wrong. What happened, huh? Please. I promise—I’m here for you. You can talk to me.”

Instead of comforting him, the words just made him feel so much worse. He was overreacting, wasn’t he? He was being dramatic and immature. He was making everything worse. He was being so _goddamned pathetic._

How stupid did he look right now, lying in a filthy motel bed sobbing and in hysterics as if someone had died? By the time Frank spit out what had happened—if he ever managed to do it—Gerard would have no patience left for him. 

There was no point in saying anything now. Telling Gerard wouldn’t change anything. He already set that fire and killed those men. Gerard had already done his part. Gerard couldn’t help him. Frank was in this alone. He had to take care of it on his own…

Frank took a deep breath and forced himself to hold it, making his body calm down—forcing himself to stop crying. Gerard _couldn’t_ help him. It would be better for everything if Frank just kept doing as he has been and kept his mouth shut. Gerard wouldn’t leave him if he didn’t know his partner had been used. 

“Here, take a drink.” 

Frank found the cup of cold coffee being held to his lips and carefully took a sip. After a moment Frank was able to sit up and take the cup into his own hands. Gerard started rubbing Frank’s shoulder as he finished off the coffee silently, and then pushed the white paper bags a little closer to Frank. 

Eventually, Gerard managed to get Frank to eat one of the two burgers and then ate the second one himself. By that point they were cold and close to flavorless, but Frank didn’t complain. His stomach had settled once he’d decided this wasn’t the time to spill his secrets and after finishing the burger he was able to eat one of the bars of chocolate before lying back down. 

Gerard cleaned up the bed, putting all the candy and food back into the plastic bags and setting them aside onto the floor. He laid down next to Frank, and started stroking his hair. Sometimes he dared to let his palm caress Frank’s cheek or linger on his neck, covering the scorpion tattoo, as his thumb traced Frank’s jawline.

At first the intimate touches scared him, but it didn’t take Frank long to relax into them. Gerard made him feel safe the way nothing else could. It was a dark thought, but Frank even began finding comfort in knowing Gerard—if he ever had to—would kill to keep him safe. If someone were to break into their room now and try to hurt him, Frank could envision Gerard attacking the intruder and winning. 

“I love you, Baby,” Gerard whispered, his hand heavy on the side of Frank’s neck. 

“Yeah?” Frank asked, looking Gerard in the eyes and searching them. It seemed to be true. Frank _wanted_ it to be true.

“Yeah. You’re so perfect.” Gerard scooted closer and made to kiss him, but Frank closed his eyes and turned his face away quickly. Gerard sighed sadly and Frank let out a shaking breath. Frank didn’t want to cry again, but knowing that he was hurting Gerard and pushing him away when all he wanted was to have him close drove him to the edge again. “What’d they do to you, huh?” Gerard asked, stroking Frank’s jawline again with his thumb.

“Hurt me,” Frank whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Frank closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the images in his brain but only making them more vibrant. 

“What’d they do, Baby? I’m listening.”

Frank bit his lip again and stared at a stain on the bed sheets between their faces. 

“They caught me in the parking lot. Cornered me.” One step at a time, he told himself. If he could say it one step at a time, maybe the secret would leave him without him having to choke on all of its implications. “I tried to… I mean, I knew if they got me on the ground they’d probably stomp me. But I couldn’t get up and they were really fast.” He wanted to look up and catch a glimpse of Gerard’s face. He wanted to know if Gerard was analyzing him or if he was bored with this story, or angry or sad. “The pinned me down and kicked me, then they… I got stabbed.”

Frank’s entire body was shaking, and even though Gerard kept stroking his jawline Frank couldn’t feel consoled. 

“What did they do?” Gerard asked quietly, gently coaxing Frank to say the last little bit.

Only the last bits of his story weren’t so small. 

“I don’t know why, Gerard. I don’t know why it happened,” Frank said, the tears overwhelming him again although managed not to sob. If he let himself start sobbing, he knew he would never stop.

“Why what happened, Frankie? You can tell me. I’m right here.” 

Frank opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, trying to find the right words or the best words only to discover that nothing seemed to do it justice. To say he was raped sounded too cliché. To say he’d been sexually assaulted sounded too proper. To say he was gang-raped just made him feel like a joke. Words couldn’t describe what had happened. 

“They took turns,” Frank sobbed. “I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I _tried,_ Gerard. I really tried but they didn’t let me go.”

“Took turns doing what?” Gerard asked, his harsh tone implying he already knew and didn’t like it. Frank prayed that anger wasn’t directed at him, but it felt so personal he couldn’t help but whimper. “Doing what, Frank?”

“You know what,” Frank cried. 

“How many?” Gerard asked, his tone more gentle. 

“Three,” Frank said, squeezing his eyes shut as even his body reeled from the memories. It was so hard not to slip back into that place. Even his stab wound started pulsating and stinging as if it were fresh.

“What…what about the other one? What did…what did he do to you?”

“I don’t want to say,” Frank whispered. Though he hated Gerard kissing him, he was terrified at the thought that Gerard wouldn’t want to. He needed that affection even if he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. If Gerard pulled away at the same time Frank pulled away, they would have nothing. Gerard would leave him to struggle through this alone. Frank couldn’t do it alone anymore. 

“Just let go, Frank. You’ll feel better. Remember when I used to tell you all the bad things? It made me feel better. I want you to feel better.”

“I’ll never feel better,” Frank whispered. 

“It takes time. You just need to tell me. I won’t…be mad.” Gerard stroked Frank’s hair before letting his hand come to rest on Frank’s neck again. 

“The…the third one didn’t want me but they made him… They kept saying I needed put in my place so he, um… He fuckin’…” It did no good to even try to make himself feel tough. He _wasn’t_ tough. He was nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Fuckin’ pissed on my face and…and I know you don’t want to kiss that so don’t… Don’t bother.”

“Frank, if I’d been the one who found you I would’ve kissed you on the mouth right there. I don’t care what they got on you. You’re mine and I love you—and I show that by kissing you.” 

“Gerard, I could… I could have diseases now. I still haven’t gone back to get checked. You don’t want to kiss me.”

“I don’t care if you have diseases. I love you.”

“I know,” Frank whispered. “But…I could have caught AIDS, you know? I could die. I don’t want you to catch that.”

“I would kill for you, Frankie. You have to believe that I would die for you, too.” Gerard scooted even closer, leaving hardly an inch between their bodies even though Frank shook violently from the closeness. Gerard put an arm over Frank’s shoulder to hold him and forced a kiss onto his lips when Frank tried to pull away. “And you can’t catch AIDS from kissing so hold still—hold still!”

When he raised his voice, Frank stiffened, but the kiss that followed was gentle and sweet. Even when Gerard ran his tongue along Frank’s bottom lip, Frank complied out of desire instead of fear. There was no lust—not yet, not so soon—but he felt love in Gerard’s kiss and he wanted to make sure his partner knew he would try to come back from this. He wouldn’t give up on them if Gerard stayed faithful, and he knew Gerard would need proof that Frank would eventually be willing to go back to what they’d had before to keep him from leaving. He didn’t want Gerard to walk out. He needed his partner. 

“You should get some sleep. Do you want me to shut off the light?” Gerard asked before placing a gentle kiss on Frank’s forehead. 

“Okay,” Frank whispered, not realizing he’d fisted his hand into the front of Gerard’s t-shirt until Gerard moved to get up. He couldn’t bring himself to let go, stuck between feeling childish and desperate. He felt so exposed now with not a single secret safe from Gerard. It was irrational, but he was afraid if Gerard got up from the bed, he wouldn’t be coming back. He _knew_ it wouldn’t happen like that, but he could only watch as Gerard slowly unfolded his fingers from around the fabric of his shirt. Gerard got up slowly and moved the bags of candy and food away from the floor beside the bed so he wouldn’t step on them in the dark. He checked a second time to make sure the door was locked and then gave Frank a reassuring smile before switching off the light and hurrying back to the bed. He was still dressed in his street clothes instead of pajamas, but he got under the blankets regardless, wrapping Frank up securely in his arms. 

“Aren’t you glad I bought decaf?” Gerard asked, kissing Frank’s forehead over and over until Frank finally got used to it and stopped flinching. “They say we’ll probably have to be awake before seven.”

“I’m not tired,” Frank mumbled, going back to clutching Gerard’s shirt, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. 

“Do you want me to sing to you?” Gerard asked. He reached between them to pull Frank’s hand off of his shirt and entwine their fingers instead.

“Okay,” Frank whispered. It wouldn’t help him sleep any, not when the violent images were still so prominent in his mind, destined to turn into nightmares, but if Gerard wanted to sing for him Frank would accept it while he could. He never knew if or when Gerard might give up on him and stop trying to offer comfort. 

“I need to write more ballads,” Gerard mumbled to himself after a few moments of disorganized humming. “I doubt you want me screaming in your ear…that won’t help you sleep.”

Frank forced a small laugh and closed his eyes, feeling Gerard’s breath ruffle his hair. Gerard started humming something else before stringing a few words together. He started over a couple of times and then seemed to settle on a melody and chorus. Frank drew closer to him so he could feel the vibration of Gerard’s chest as he sang quietly. It was soothing, comforting, in between the thrum of his pulse. 

Before long, Frank fell into a dreamless sleep.


	28. Awake and Unafraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update before I head off to work for the night--more will be up soon! Sorry I disappeared for a couple days. Went to see Frank in PA last night ^_^

_Chapter 28_

There was a sharp knock on the door at around five-thirty the next morning. Gerard’s eyes immediately snapped open and he let out a low growl when Frank twitched. He wasn’t yet awake and Gerard slid out of the bed and opened the hotel room door after looking through the peep hole. 

“Can I help you?” Gerard asked, fixing the officers outside his door with a confused stare. “It’s…five in the morning. Did something happen?”

“Mr. Way we may have gotten a new lead on the case and because of your rushed schedule we need you and Mr. Iero to look at some photos for us—tell us if you recognize anyone,” one of the two officers said.

“Yeah, sure,” Gerard said, making a show of shaking off his sleep. “Let me…wake up Frank.” He stumbled over to the bed and leaned over to shake Frank’s shoulder, feeling a little bit guilty when his lover jerked away from him with a gasp. “Frank, the police are here. They want us to look at some photos.”

“Photos?” Frank asked groggily. “What time is it?” He leaned over to look at the alarm clock and then moaned. “Photos?” He repeated.

“Yeah. So stay awake,” Gerard said, rubbing Frank’s shoulder before stepping back to the door. One of the officers came into the room to stand beside Frank who was slowly sitting up in the bed. 

“Mr. Way, if you could, take a look at these pictures and tell me if you recognize anyone.”

The officer handed him a page with six, small mug-shot photos on it. They were all younger men with dark hair, three on each row.

“This boy…he kind of looks familiar,” Gerard said, pointing at the second to last photo.

It must’ve been the right choice because the officer’s eyes lit up.

“Alright. And can you look at this page, too, please,” the officer said, handing a second sheet to Gerard. This one had six photos of girls with long blonde hair. Some of them looked decent and others looked more than a bit strung out on drugs. Gerard scanned the page, trying to see which one had the look of a psycho killer and picked the second one on the top row. “Where do you recognize these people from?”

“I’m pretty sure I saw them backstage…or by the doors. I don’t know. I had a lot to drink that night—I always drink a lot before I go on stage. Nerves and all that shit. The guy I saw for sure. He was acting kind of weird…I guess that’s why he stood out.”

“And what about the girl?”

“Well she…she was with him backstage or…or wherever I saw them. I remember _a_ girl, but I can’t really tell which of them it is to be honest,” Gerard said, gesturing toward the set of photos. “Do you think they’re the ones who did this?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the officer said, looking past Gerard at Frank. Gerard turned to look as well and saw Frank shake his head and hand the photos back.

“It’s like I said—I was in the greenroom the whole time. Anyone can vouch for me. If there was someone strange backstage, I wouldn’t have seen them,” Frank said to the cop standing beside the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“So there are some leads then,” Gerard said, looking back at his officer. “Frank’s still…between you and me, Frank’s still kind of messed up from all this. He just got out of the hospital a little while ago because somebody nearly killed him, now somebody lit one of our busses on fire. We’ve got the same kind of bus at The Used. _He’s_ scared that the guys who attacked him burned The Used’s bus thinking it was ours. Everybody knows he stopped playing and if he wasn’t in the greenroom he would’ve been on our bus. So…the sooner you catch these people the better.”

“Well, these kids confessed but they seem like a couple of…well, nutjobs. We need to make sure that they actually did what they said they did and just aren’t trying to get the notoriety.”

“Who wants to be known for murder?” Gerard asked. “I mean, the guys that died were just backup players. They weren’t celebrities.”

“It is strange, but it wouldn’t be the oddest thing that I’ve had happen on a case. If these kids did do it, at least we’ll get them off the streets.”

“If they did do it though, those kids I mean…they can’t be the ones who attacked Frank,” Gerard said. 

“I know it’s hard during times of stress to think clearly, but more likely than not these two attacks are unrelated. Mr. Iero was attacked half-way across the country. It’s unlikely the people involved in that attack followed you here.”

“Right,” Gerard said, looking over as the second officer approached the door. 

“We won’t take up any more of your time—good luck with rest of your tour.”

“So we _are_ cleared to leave then?”

“At seven a.m.,” the officer said as he and his partner started down the hall. 

Gerard didn’t respond. He stepped back into the room and closed the door. He redid the chain lock and then stepped back over to the bed and laid himself down beside Frank, curling around his body.

“Lay back down,” Gerard whispered. “We’ve still got time to sleep.”

Frank sighed and turned to look at Gerard who was lying behind him. 

“Gerard?”

“Hm?”

Frank said nothing. He just stared down at Gerard with a sad, nervous look on his face. 

“I want to kiss you, Baby,” Gerard said, reaching up to touch Frank’s cheek. Frank sighed and laid himself down beside Gerard, facing him. 

“Why?” Frank whispered.

“Because I love you,” Gerard said, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Frank’s. Frank pulled back a moment later and stared into Gerard’s eyes. 

“Why?”

“Because you’re you take care of me when I’m sick and when I’m sad… You’re nice—like, you’re nice to everybody. You’re so nice you don’t even eat meat because you don’t like animals getting hurt. But you make sure you look tough and you get all these…really sexy tattoos.” Gerard almost expected Frank to look offended or sad at the mention of his sex appeal, but he actually laughed a little and turned his face away. “And don’t get me started on your laugh, Frank.”

“My laugh? What are you talking about?” Frank asked, smiling.

“You _giggle,_ Frank—”

“No, I don’t,” Frank said, rolling onto his back, still grinning.

“Yes, you do! And it’s shrill, and it’s girly—”

_“No,_ it’s not!”

“Frank, trust me. I would know. It’s girly.”

“That’s _mean,_ ” Frank said, but he was laughing. Gerard scooted closer and pressed a kiss onto Frank’s jawline.

“Mm, and I love that you’re sensitive—and you always smell good.” 

“Not _always,”_ Frank muttered. 

“Yes you do!”

“No!” Frank laughed softly and shook his head. “When I’m on stage, I don’t smell good.”

“I think you do,” Gerard said, putting an arm around his boyfriend and pulling him closer. “I like it when you smell like sweat—you smell more like you and less like soap and anti-dandruff shampoo.”

“That’s disgusting,” Frank grunted, rolling away so his back was to Gerard who snuggled up behind him. 

“I love you,” Gerard said.

“I love you too,” Frank said, still sounding a little bit humored. 

“You’re so warm,” Gerard mumbled, hoping that if he kept adding layer upon layer of shmoop and soppy affection that Frank would warm back up to him and stay that way even after they left the safety of the hotel room and faced the real world. It was easy for Frank to confide in him when they were alone—when they were in bed, that was the entirety of his world. There was no danger, no fear, no reason to be untrusting. It wasn’t until they went outside and other people started getting involved that Frank became guarded, suspicious, and quiet. 

“Gerard, I can…feel your boner and it’s making me uncomfortable,” Frank said, shifting a little under the blankets so there were a few inches of space between his thighs and Gerard’s hips. 

“It’s because you’re warm,” Gerard said, grabbing Frank’s hip and pulling him back close.

“Gerard!”

“Hush. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Gerard, that doesn’t—”

“Shh. It’s because you’re warm. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” Frank mumbled, squirming against Gerard’s hold on him. 

“It’ll go away,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s shoulder before nuzzling it and making to go back to sleep. 

“Gerard, _please._ I really—don’t!” Frank screamed when Gerard got his arms around him and pulled, rolling so that Frank was on top of him. “Stop! What are you—”

“Hush,” Gerard said, letting Frank drop onto the mattress on the opposite side of the bed from where he’d been. 

“Gerard! That _hurt!_ You can’t just pull me around like that!”

Frank did look hurt and it made Gerard feel a small bit of guilt tug at him as he rolled onto his side, his back to Frank. 

“What? Now you’re not talking to me?” Frank snapped.

“You can’t feel my boner if you’re the big spoon,” Gerard said, shrugging. 

“You could’ve just said that and rolled over! You didn’t need to yank on me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be! That really _hurt!_ ” Frank yelled, sitting up and lifting his shirt to check his stab wound to see if he was bleeding. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to touch you,” Gerard said, rolling over to see if Frank was in fact bleeding. He seemed to be okay, physically at least, but Frank huffed and nestled back down with a fair bit of distance between himself and Gerard. 

“Then just hold my hand or…hug me. Don’t pull on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, rolling over in order to curl against his boyfriend. Frank sighed, but didn’t push him away. “I love you.”

“I know—I love you too.” Gerard put his arm over Frank’s chest and leaned up to kiss his cheek. Frank scowled for a moment before turning to look down at Gerard.

If he kept his face innocent and affectionate, Gerard knew Frank wouldn’t stay mad at him. 

“You’re pretty,” Gerard said after Frank stared at him a bit too long.

“Pretty? That’s what you want to say right now?”

“Well, you’re looking at me—all I think about when you look at me like that is how pretty your eyes are.” Whenever he was upset, Frank always complimented his eyes. _Always._ Gerard thought maybe Frank would like to hear the same thing said about him.

“Yeah… Of course they are.” Frank sighed heavily and relaxed against the pillow, closing his eyes. 

“Frank?”

_“What?_ ”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

“Your laugh _is_ girly.”

“Oh, _shut up!_ No, it’s not!” Frank grumbled, rubbing his face.

“It really is, Frankie. It’s my…fourth favorite thing about you.”

“Only the fourth?”

“Mhm.”

“Let me guess, the first is because I’m nice to you—”

“Nope.”

“Oh, wow… Is it my face?”

“No—that’s fifth.”

“Fifth? My face is fifth? Ouch.”

“First is—”

“No, let me guess. It’s…my brain because it controls everything I think.”

“No… No organs.”

“My soul?”

“That’s second.”

“Oh! Second, wow,” Frank huffed a little but settled into the game. Gerard knew Frank wouldn’t stay mad at him—and if he was mad because Gerard was insensitive and pulled on him too much then his mind was far removed from having Gerard pressing up against him. “Is the first…my heart?”

“No—I said no organs.”

“Fine. My tattoos?”

“That’s fourth.”

“You said my laugh was fourth.”

“Well now it’s third.”

Frank laughed and shook his head. 

“You’re impossible.”

“First is how you play guitar, because it’s like everything in you just comes out at once—like, all of you. It has your energy and your passion—”

“I’m not playing the next show, Gerard.”

“—and you show sides of you I’ve always known were there but you never show at home,” Gerard said, continuing as if Frank hadn’t spoken.

“Right…and second is my soul, because it’s what makes me play that well?”

“No. Your soul is second because it’s good and it’s kind and I love that about you.”

“And my laugh is third because—”

“It’s fuckin’ cute.”

“Right,” Frank said, smiling and rolling his eyes. 

“And then your tattoos because they’re like your soul, but on your skin—and they’re colorful and I like the color.” Gerard started picking at Frank’s elbow just to get Frank to squirm a little so Gerard could get closer to him. “Then your face—because it’s cute and it’s hot and even when you’re mad at me I still find you attractive.”

“Well, thanks.”

“So what’s your list?”

“My list?”

“Yeah—what do you like about me?”

“Um… Crap. I don’t keep lists.”

“So make one up; I just did.”

“Hey!” Frank said, laughing and sitting up. “You made that whole thing up?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, offering Frank a lopsided smile. “But it’s not hard because I love you—and I think about it a lot.”

“Okay—alright, fine. I can do this. Sure… Um. Okay, well fifth—we’re doing five, right?”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise I’d list like…a hundred.”

“You have a hundred?”

“Frankie, I have a thousand.”

“So what’s number one-thousand?”

“Hm… Your ugly winter coats.”

“Hey—you like my coats! You told me you like the buttons on my coat when we met in the store.”

“Well, I was lying.”

“Wow. I never knew our whole life was a lie,” Frank said, giggling and turning his face away when Gerard leaned up for a kiss.

“So what’s your top five? What do you like about me?”

“Let’s see. Number five…your lips. Fourth, your attitude—”

“My attitude?”

“You’ve got an attitude, Gerard. You’re lucky I like it. Not everyone can put up with you let alone love you for being an asshole.”

“You’re mean,” Gerard pouted, kissing Frank’s chin and neck.

“Your eyes are third because if I stare at them long enough, usually I can figure out what you’re about to do to me. Second is your art, and first is…your soul—because I’m cheesy and corny and if you didn’t have your soul, you’d be dead. So…yeah. That’s my top five.”

“I guess I can live with that,” Gerard said, smiling as he pulled Frank close to him. “You should get some more sleep. We’ve got some time before they’ll come tell us it’s time to leave.”

“Mkay,” Frank mumbled, shifting around until he got comfortable. Gerard snuggled against him, making sure to hips away from Frank just in case he had another issue. He didn’t want Frank to be uncomfortable.


	29. No Room in this Hell

_Chapter 29_

His body was cold and numb. Wherever he was, it was dark and the only thing he could sense other than that terrible chill was a jagged edge digging into his shoulder. Frank tried to move his arms to get away from that painful pressure, but no matter how hard he tried he could only get them to move a centimeter or two at a time. His wrists hurt, his hands hurt…any part of him he could feel through the cold and heavy numbness hurt.

Frank felt tears running down his cheeks but didn’t know what was making him cry—whether it was the pain or the fear or just the awful cold that had settled over him. The last thing he remembered was being trapped under four sneering men, bleeding. That was when the chill settled in and his legs went numb—then the numbness climbed up to his hips and mercifully encompassed him. 

And now he was here—in the dark, in the cold, laying on something sharp and surrounded by bad smells that made his stomach turn over and over until he worked up the strength to gag and empty his stomach. 

He tried to breathe, but his throat felt too tight and he began to panic when he couldn’t draw in any air. He knew he was panicking and that he needed to be calm, but he scared and he was _hurt_ and he just wanted out of the dark.

Slowly he was able to get his hand to move down his body. He was surprise to feel the fabric of his black slacks underneath his fingertips. It seemed wrong that his attackers had dressed him before dumping him—but then again, carrying a half-naked man around would attract more attention. 

Whimpering through the pain that shot through each of his knuckles as he tried to fit his hand into his pocket, Frank tugged out his cell phone and immediate lit up the screen and brought it to his face. 

As soon as the light struck his eyes, Frank cried out and dropped the phone. It _hurt._ The light sent a bolt of pain through his skull like a gunshot and he started to sob despite the added ache on his chest and ribs. It took him what felt like hours to compose himself enough to reach in the direction of the phone again—the phone which had gone dark. When he had it in hand he forced himself to keep his eyes open despite the headache that came with the light. 

He tried to navigate the screen to lower the brightness, but his eyes kept closing involuntarily until he couldn’t get them to open again. He felt his hand go limp and the numbness overcame all of him once again. No matter how hard he tried to twitch or jerk—cry or _scream—_ nothing happened. No sound came out. His lips wouldn’t even part for him.

He was dying. The thought filled his brain with sheer terror; worse than anything he’d ever felt before. He couldn’t shake from it, couldn’t scream or flinch or cry for help. He was trapped in his own skin while his mind raced. He was dead already…wasn’t he? 

This was death. This was what death felt like. 

It was nothing but complete and utter terror.

Then, all at once, his eyes snapped open and his fingers spasmed around the phone in his hand. The sudden spasm made his finger hit the power button and the screen came to life, once again sending a bullet of pain through his skull. 

He tried to keep the panic down, knowing he didn’t have much time left. If he didn’t act now, the numbness would come back to claim him. He had to get help. He needed Gerard. 

He had no doubts that his injuries were severe. Frank knew he was going to die, and he didn’t want to go through it alone. 

His fingers trembled as he brought up Gerard’s number and pressed call, but he immediately heard a soft beep and his phone showed low signal—the call could not be sent. 

Frank started sobbing through his already choked, labored breaths and tried to shift around so he might be able to find at least one bar—anything to get the red, slashed-circle icon to disappear. 

After crawling into his own vomit and then involuntarily rolling down into a deeper depth of whatever prison he was inside, the circle did disappear, but he only had an empty triangle in its place—not enough signal to give him a bar.

Frank tried anyway and when the call still couldn’t be sent he decided to text instead—only his fingers shook too hard and instead of typing “help me” he ended up with a mixture consonants, none of which looked even remotely like a cry for help. He had to delete the message and start over, but just as he channeled enough focus to type out an h and an e, his hand went numb and the phone fell from it. 

Frank jerked to reach for it, but his arm never moved. It was horrifying to send the signal and to have his body refuse to comply. He had to watch helplessly as his phone slide away and then came to a rest against a solid wall, lighting it up and giving Frank just enough reflected light to see that he was in a dumpster, surrounded by black trash bags. 

Then it went dark again and he didn’t know if it was because his phone’s screen had gone dark or if his vision had cut out—his eyes were still open, unable to blink.

 _Dead,_ he thought, feeling the word pierce his heart. _You’re dead._

It hurt. It frightened him. But he couldn’t even cry. 

He heard his phone start to ring and tried, _tried so hard_ to crawl toward it, but he couldn’t move. No part of him responded to any of the signals his brain tried to send. His body was his prison and he was going to die. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank sat up in the bed gasping for air, his body finally obeying him. The pain still clung to him though, along with the chill. His body was soaked in sweat and he trembled despite the sheets wrapped around his shoulders. He turned around in the bed, looking for the only thing that would make the fear go away.

He wasn’t alone a dumpster. He hadn’t been left alone to die. He was safe. He was safe here in the hotel…but he was alone.

The bed was empty. 

Frank looked around the entire mattress, almost as if expected to see Gerard sleeping at the foot of the bed—or maybe just sitting there writing or putting on his shoe—but there was no one. He turned quickly back around and looked toward the bathroom door, hoping to see it closed but it was not. He listened, but there was no sound.

Gerard had left him. 

Frank knew he had two choices. Either he could sit in the motel bed the way he’d sat in the hospital bed and cry, and _cry_ and let himself cave in, or he could get up, go next door, and see if Gerard was visiting Mikey and if they were out, at least he could sit with Ray. He didn’t _have_ to be alone anymore. He wasn’t sitting in the hospital by himself wishing there was someone he could confide in—someone who wouldn’t tell the papers or start rumors.

After taking a deep breath, trying to ward off the panicked heavy breathing, Frank got up from the bed and stumbled toward the door on trembling legs. He steadied himself before opening the door and stepping into the hallway. There was no one else around and he made his way to the door diagonally across from his own.

He paused before knocking, not wanting to present himself as a crying, shaking mess. He leaned against the door and tried to slow his breathing as he listened for noises within the room. 

Right away he heard someone talking—not even bothering to speak in hushed tones. It was Mikey.

“Look, all I’m saying, Gerard, is that _I’m_ the one who found him. That shit _fucks_ with you. Even _I_ have nightmares about it. I treated him like _shit_ for _years,_ then I find him dead—I thought he was _dead—_ and I just kept thinking, _shit._ He didn’t deserve this. You know? I thought that this guy who did everything he could to keep _you_ from getting hurt, is…is dead.”

“Mikey, it’s—”

Frank felt relief immediately at the sound of Gerard’s voice, no matter how brief it was.

“He’s dead—for _no reason._ I have these dreams that I either find him and he _is_ dead, or he’s there gasping for help and I fuckin’ leave.” 

“You don’t need to feel guilty. Yeah, you’ve been hard on Frank, but I get it. He gets it, too. You just want to protect me. You both do and neither of you really know how the hell to do that because it’s not fuckin’ possible, but you try.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, whatever. But you don’t want to find the person you treat like shit lying dead somewhere! I feel _bad._ ”

“Then apologize to him.” That was Ray’s voice. “He’s not going to attack you if you take him aside and say ‘hey, sorry I was an asshole. I just want what’s best for Gerard and sometimes I get carried away.’ It’s not hard, Mikey. It’s really not. Frank…he’d probably appreciate it.”

“I agree,” Gerard said. The sound of his voice made Frank press closer to the door. He hated how drawn he was—how dependent he let himself become—to the other man’s presence. He wanted to be the strong one, the masculine one, the one who could take care of himself. But he wasn’t. He was a pathetic, sniveling excuse for a man who couldn’t even bring himself to knock on the door and draw attention to himself. “I know it bothers him a lot that you don’t accept him.”

“That’s the thing—I do. No one else is good enough for you. He _gets_ you. Even when you were screwing around with Bert, he _knew_ it was happening and he didn’t do _anything_ to you about it. No one else is going to treat you that way.”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t need to remind me,” Gerard said, sounding bitter and sad. “I’m a shit boyfriend and I put him through hell for no reason, but I’m trying to make that up to him. I’m gonna be there for him now and…we’re going to get him through this.”

“What I don’t get though is the last time he was attacked, at the diner, he was…almost _angry_ about it,” Mikey said. “Something’s different this time. I mean, I can understand why he scared and doesn’t want to come out—he almost _died—_ but…there’s something else.”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” Gerard said, protecting Frank’s secret. “He’s older, you know? It takes longer to bounce back from…trauma. And he didn’t _almost_ die. His heart stopped twice. He did die and that had to be fucking terrifying to go through by himself.”

Frank’s composure broke and he felt the tears start falling rapidly as he leaned against the door, nodding in agreement even though Gerard couldn’t see him. It had been terrifying. And it _was_ awful to go through on his own. Gerard understood him. He _wasn’t_ alone in this.

“Look, I’ve gotta go wake him up. Let me know when the bus is ready.”

Frank thought to go back to the room and fake asleep, but knew the tears on his face would betray him if he tried so he surrendered and stayed still. Maybe if Gerard opened the door and all of them saw him standing there, they would realize it wasn’t right to gossip about him. 

The doorknob rattled and Frank took a small step back. Gerard wasn’t look in his direction when he opened the door and ended up walking straight into Frank’s body. He fell backwards with a noise of surprise, but Frank just stood watching him.

“Shit, you scared me,” Gerard said, catching his balance and staring at Frank. “You okay?”

“Is it Frank?” Ray asked from within the room.

“Yeah,” Gerard snapped. “It’s fine.” His face softened when he turned back to Frank and he placed a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. 

Frank stayed at his side as they walked back to their own room, trying to think of something to say. Once their door closed, the first words out of his mouth were, “You left me.”

“I didn’t know you were going to wake up,” Gerard said quietly, reaching out and stroking Frank’s cheek. “I heard someone knocking on Mikey’s door and they said it was about time to go and I knew they’d come to our room next so I just got up before they could knock and wake you.”

“But you left,” Frank repeated. The fear from his nightmare was still clinging to him, and it had hurt so much to dream about lying alone, dying, and then waking up alone when he expected his partner to be with him. 

“I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t expect you to wake up. Did you have a bad dream?” Gerard was searching his face and Frank turned away. “What was it about? We have time, Frank. Let’s go sit down. We’ll talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Frank muttered.

“Frank, I’m _sorry._ But I’m here now, so let’s just talk. You’ll feel better. I _promise._ I know it’s hard to talk about, but you can trust me. I know how to help.”

“Nothing can help me,” Frank snapped. “Okay? You _know_ that. Nothing you say is going to help me. I just…I just have relive it if I tell you so why bother?”

“Because you’re already reliving it. If you let it out, you’ll feel better. Just tell me, Frankie.”

“Fine,” Frank said with a heavy sigh as he sank down onto the bed. “I…I dreamt about when I was in the dumpster. And the whole time I was awake in there, I kept going in and out of consciousness so I’d be able to move one minute, then I’d go numb again.”

“I didn’t know you were awake for that,” Gerard whispered. 

“I was trying to call you,” Frank said, hating how his voice started shaking. There was no reason to get upset over it now—it was over, it was in the past. It felt so ridiculous to be scared now that he wasn’t on his own. 

“I kept calling you the whole time after the show,” Gerard said. His expression was one of guilt and shame, and it was almost reassuring to Frank to know that his boyfriend cared enough about him to be remorseful that he never bothered to call until _after_ their show.

“I was almost able to text you, but my hand…” Frank stared down at his hand and paused. He looked at it as if it had betrayed—and he guessed it had in that moment. “It just…twitched and I dropped my phone. And I knew that I was going to die. I was gonna lay there and die, and I couldn’t move no matter what I did.” 

“That would be really terrifying,” Gerard whispered, carefully putting an arm around Frank’s shoulders and resting his head against Frank’s. “I’m so sorry I didn’t look sooner. I could’ve spared you all that if I weren’t…distracted.”

“I wish you were the one who found me. I thought I was dying and you weren’t there for me.”

“No one told me,” Gerard said. “They didn’t even tell me they found you until after you’d gone to the ER in the ambulance.” 

“And I _hate_ them for that,” Frank said, shaking his head. “I wanted you there. I thought I was dying. I wanted to see you.”

“I wish I’d been there too, Frank. I didn’t know you’d been hurt or that your heart was going to stop.” Gerard felt like he was going to die, too, when the doctors told him that Frank’s heart had stopped the first time. The second time, it was the nurse who told him because they were trying to get his heart started again but it wasn’t working out. He thought he was going to lose Frank—lose everything. There was no point living if Frank was dead. They were as close to being one person that Gerard could fathom and losing Frank would be the same as losing part of himself. “Frank, I love you more than anything—more than anyone. I _wanted_ to be there for you. I _always_ want to be here for you. If you need me, call me. Especially right now. I can’t be with you every second, but I’ll try, and I’ll come running when you call me.” 

Frank leaned toward Gerard, finally initiating a kiss after weeks of dodging them. Gerard returned it gently, and placed a hand on the back of Frank’s neck. Frank parted his lips and sighed when he felt Gerard’s tongue slide along his bottom lip. It was gentle, and intimate—exactly what Frank needed in that moment. 

He wanted to feel close to Gerard again. He wanted that intimacy and level of trust back. 

Frank reached out with a shaking hand and rested his palm against Gerard’s hip, not sure if he was daring to invite Gerard to do more to him or if he just needed a way to brace himself. Gerard returned the gesture by placing his hand on Frank’s hip and slowly massaging a circle into the angle of his hipbone with his thumb.

“I can take care of you, baby,” Gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s ear before nuzzling his cheek.

Frank froze, his entire body going rigid with fear. What if he said yes? What if he went back to kissing and let Gerard climb on top of him? What if he let Gerard pin him down on the filthy bed?

Was it any better than a dirty parking lot?

Frank turned his face away when Gerard started kissing his neck. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this and Gerard was going to leave him for someone who could. 

“Why are you crying? I love you. I won’t hurt you.”

“I can’t do this,” Frank said, pulling away and getting off the bed. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes as he tried to fight back the tears, and then started for the bathroom when he Gerard stand up as well. He shut the door and locked it, and then slid down the wall beside it. 

“Frank? Please open the door. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Frank shook his head even though he knew Gerard couldn’t see him and covered his ears to muffle the noise of Gerard knocking on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this fic won't be sad forever! It's going to start getting happier real soon!


	30. How Much You Mean

_Chapter 30_

His hands shook the entire time he tried to tweak and adjust his guitar. It felt wrong to be holding it, and he kept looking over his shoulder as if expecting someone to be standing behind him—stalking him and waiting to pounce—as he worked. The next show after this one would be in the city. It was the show his parents had gotten tickets to and after countless phone calls from his mother and father both, Frank was too afraid to disappoint them by not performing. He wished there was more time—wished that he could play for them in Jersey instead of NY, but all of the shows in Jersey had sold out and he couldn’t even beg the venues to comp tickets for his family members. The entire buildings were at capacity…

So he had to get over himself, swallow down the nerves, and get back into the groove of putting himself on display in front of hundreds of people. Standing out there on a stage. Lights on him. Eyes on him. Everyone looking at him and judging. 

Would he play well? Probably not. Would they boo him? Would they ask for his stand-in player to come out and perform instead? Frank didn’t think he could handle that.

He couldn’t do this.

Frank let his guitar hang in front of him on its strap and looked over at Gerard who was harassing Mikey as he toyed with his amp. 

“Would you butt out?” Mikey snapped. “I got this—leave me alone.”

“I’m trying to help you, Mikey.”

“Well you’re not—you don’t know shit about amps. Go. Away.” Even though the conversation was heated, it was nothing serious. The brothers were just bickering—just taking their frustrations out on one another because they knew neither of them would take it personally. Everyone from the band members to the sound techs were anxious for the show since it would be Frank’s first time playing after the incident. No one knew if he would actually go through with it or if he would start to play and then black out or run away. 

Frank couldn’t do this.

“Hey.”

Frank turned away from Gerard in order to look ahead of him. Ray had approached him, noticing the distress on Frank’s face even from across the stage.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Frank confessed, shaking his hair out of his face and looking down at his guitar. 

“Sure you can. I know it’s hard, but you can do this. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s safer up here than it is backstage. No one can hurt you if everyone’s watching.”

“That’s just it,” Frank said. “Everyone’s watching me. I don’t even know how well I can play.”

“Frank, you’re one of the best players I know—”

“Stop it. I’m nothing. I’m not even half as good as you. For all I know, that kid plays better than I do.” Frank looked backstage where the techs were working, thinking of the backup player who could very well replace him. 

“You’re not _nothing._ Frank, I know they did some awful shit to you, but you can’t let that destroy you. You’re part of this band. The kids want to see you play. They’re going to be _happy_ to see you play whether you mess up a few chords or not.”

Frank wasn’t convinced though. Who wanted to see him perform a bad show? If he went in knowing he was going to mess up, knowing he would be an insult to the money the fans had paid, he was nothing more than a thief. A waste of time…

“Listen to me, Frank. When you were sick that time, do you remember? You were trying to play even though you had a fever of like one-hundred and five or whatever and you passed out on stage. You missed a few notes that night—you missed a _lot_ of notes that night. And you know what? The fans didn’t care. They loved you for it because you were sick and you played anyway. You played until you physically _couldn’t_ anymore. That means something to them.”

“That’s different. They could tell something was wrong—”

“Frank! You got up there and you played for them even though you were deathly ill. That means something to them! They know you’ve been hurt and that you haven’t played for weeks. They’re going to be _happy_ to see you. They’re going to be the first group to see you back on stage and they’re gonna _love_ that! They won’t give a shit if you miss a chord or play in the wrong fuckin’ key! Hell, you could play the music for _Helena_ while we’re playing _Cemetery_ and they’re going to think it’s amazing.”

“Ray, you don’t understand,” Frank said, sighing heavily. It wasn’t just about the fans. It was about _everything._ Frank’s mind was spinning with so much fear and anxiety. He was nervous and he couldn’t mix alcohol with the medication he was on in order to calm himself down. He would have to do this sober and that had his nerves wracked as well. 

“Then help me understand. What is it?”

Frank looked over at Gerard who was trying not to show that he was watching him from his place next to Mikey. When he caught Frank looking at him, he stooped down next to his little brother who practically snarled at him and told him to get away from his amp.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Ray repeated. “It’ll be fine. You’ve done this before.”

But it didn’t feel like it would be fine. He felt like everything was about to go wrong. Either the fans would boo him or he’d mess everything up and his bandmates would want him out—and if not them, then the managers. 

“Frank… Just tell me what’s happening. We can help you.”

“You can’t help me!” Frank snapped, shaking his head and then squeezing his eyes shut tight. He felt cornered, trapped. It wasn’t the time to blurt out details or plead for less pressure and more sympathy. It was time to get ready for show time. It was time to put on his tough outer shell and pretend he was okay. It wasn’t time to break everyone down by admitting he’d endured more than a random beating in the parking lot. 

( ) ( ) ( )

“What is _wrong_ with him?” Mikey asked, looking from Frank who was sitting next to the wreckage that was once his beautiful, white guitar with his head in his hands, to Gerard who was watching Frank with pity. Frank had snapped about twenty minutes after they’d tested their equipment and took out his frustrations on his guitar. 

One minute he’d been getting ready to place it back on its stand—the next he was stomping it and screaming, then kicking it, then sinking onto the floor beside it where he stayed, unmoving. 

“He’s not okay to go on,” Ray said, shaking his head. 

“They have a spare guitar. It’ll be fine,” Gerard said. 

“Gerard, you’re deluded. He’s not _okay_ to go on,” Ray said.

“He’ll be fine. He can do this,” Gerard said. 

“And if not?” Bob asked. His eyes were hidden by his dark sunglasses even though they were indoors, but Gerard had a feeling his expression was snide.

“He can do this.”

“He could get kicked off the tour for a stunt like that,” Mikey said, gesturing toward the smashed guitar at Frank’s side. 

“They’re not going to kick him off this fucking tour,” Gerard spat. If they tried, he’d set the entire establishment on fire. 

“I’m surprised they didn’t send him home already,” Bob said. 

“Just shut up about it,” Gerard hissed. “He doesn’t need you gossiping about how he shouldn’t be here. He needs our support.”

“Support?” Mikey huffed. “He needs fuckin’ therapy.”

“I wish I knew what it is that’s upsetting him so much,” Ray said with a heavy sigh. “I get that it was traumatizing to…to go through that, but he’s not—”

“He almost died! He was thrown in a dumpster like trash and left for dead! You have no right to say he’s not _reacting_ properly,” Gerard said, glaring at Ray. 

“I’m not trying to say he’s reacting wrong! I’m just saying when he was robbed at the diner he was angry about it—”

“Well he wasn’t robbed, he was _raped._ And if you think for a fucking minute you have a right to judge him you can rot in hell.” Gerard passed one last, hate-filled look to Ray and then walked over to Frank. He sat down in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Gerard, I don’t want to do this,” Frank said, sounding exhausted. Gerard coaxed him to drop his hands from his face and entwined his fingers with Frank’s. When Frank looked at him, his eyes were vacant—tired—and void of tears. 

“I need you to do this for me,” Gerard said. “Frankie, if you don’t play tonight they’ll take you off the tour. Then I’m going to leave the tour to be with you.”

Frank sighed and looked down at their hands. 

“I didn’t mean to break it,” Frank whispered. “I dropped it and…I heard something break and I just lost it.”

“You dropped Pansy?” Gerard asked, looking over at the completely destroyed guitar. 

“I was going to set it down and…I don’t know. I-I… Gerard, why are they _staring at me?_ Jesus Christ.” Frank tore his hands away from Gerard’s and stood up. When Gerard looked over at his bandmates they were all looking sadly at Frank who had stormed off in the direction of the bathrooms. They looked devastated and confused—except for Mikey whose face remained blank. Even Bob was frowning. 

Gerard scowled at them darkly and hurried after his boyfriend. There was no telling what Frank would do if left to his own devices for too long. 

“Gerard, I just want left alone!” Frank yelled as Gerard stepped into the bathroom. Frank was leaning over the sink, rinsing his mouth with water as though he’d gotten sick. 

“Frank, I told them what happened.”

“What!?” Frank turned away from the sink and stared at Gerard in horror. “Why would you do that!?”

“I’m sick of hearing them say you’re not acting right for being stabbed. I don’t want to hear that. They have no right to judge you.”

“That was _my_ business! Not yours! You had _no right_ to tell them that!”

“Frank—”

“I didn’t want them to know that! Goddamn you!”

“They need to know. They can’t support you if they don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t want supported! I don’t want them to know! Gerard, do you know how _humiliating_ this is for me?”

“You have nothing to feel ashamed of—”

“You of all people know why this is humiliating! I was beaten, I was _stripped,_ I was _violated—_ and now everybody fuckin’ knows it! If I weren’t so _angry_ with you, I would be crying right now! How could you do this to me?”

“I did this to help you.”

“It’s not helping! Having them look at me like I’m a kicked dog isn’t _helping!_ ”

“Frank, stop it. You can’t _hide_ this. It happened—it hurt you, it scared you, but I took _care_ of it. No one’s _ever_ going to do it to you again so now it’s time to move forward.”

_“Damn_ you,” Frank whimpered. “I _knew_ you… I knew you did it.” He spoke it so softly that no one could possibly overhear. _“Why_ would you do that? Gerard, you—”

“Hush. We can get through this. But you need to go on stage tonight.”

“Why? So everyone in the band can just tiptoe around me? So if I fuck up they all start looking at me with pity? I don’t _want_ that!”

“Frank, you need to play tonight. Even if you just play one song.”

“Damn you,” Frank muttered, looking from Gerard to the mirror over the bathroom sink. “Why did you have to tell them?”

“Because you smashed your guitar and they were judging you. I’m not going to listen to them say bad things about you.” 

Frank sighed and started rubbing at his face, smearing his makeup. 

“Just don’t…don’t kill my friends because they say shit you don’t like,” Frank mumbled. “And don’t ever think you can get away with this shit because you got away once.”

“Frankie, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. And if I fail, I’ll do everything I can to get revenge. You’re my partner. Don’t you…don’t you feel _safer_ knowing they’re gone?” 

“We can’t talk about this,” Frank whispered. “Not…not til we’re home. Just because those kids turned themselves in doesn’t mean you’re not still a suspect.”

“I was never a suspect,” Gerard said, going over to Frank and slowly wrapping him up in his arms. He pressed a kiss onto Frank’s cheek and then whispered into his ear, “I’ll ruin anyone who puts their hands on you again. Anyone. For _any_ reason.”

“Gerard, I—”

“Hush. We need to get ready to go on.”

“I don’t want to…”

“Frank, you need to do this. I promise nothing bad will happen.”

Frank sighed heavily and leaned into Gerard’s chest, finally lifting his arms to hug Gerard back. 

“I really wish you hadn’t told them. That was my business. I wasn’t ready for them to know…”

“You weren’t ever going to tell them. You didn’t even want to tell me and I’m your partner. Trust me. It’s better this way. If they understand, they’ll treat you better.”

“They weren’t treating me _bad!_ ”

“They were getting angry that you wouldn’t play. I’m not going to have them mad at you.”

“Are they really mad?” Frank asked after a long pause. 

“Well, not now…”

“I don’t like this,” Frank whispered. “I don’t want to do this.”

“You’ll be alright. The fans are going to be so happy to see you back, and I’ll make sure they show some enthusiasm.”

“Gonna tell them I was raped too?”

“No. They don’t need to know your business,” Gerard said firmly, kissing the top of Frank’s head. “I’m just going to tell them you were deathly ill and they’re lucky you’re here to play for them.” 

“I guess that’s fine,” Frank said, nuzzling Gerard’s chest a little more before letting his arms drop and breaking away from him. “Just…just don’t try to make me talk to them. I don’t even want my mic plugged in.”

“I promise I won’t make you talk to anybody. I can’t have all of them looking at you anyway. It’d take the focus off of me—and we all know that I’m the one everybody’s paying to see.” Gerard winked and him and Frank managed to force a small smile. “You’re going to do great tonight. You always do.”

Gerard pressed a quick kiss onto Frank’s lips and then left the bathroom, giving Frank the space he needed to calm himself down. 

( ) ( ) ( )

From the moment he was set to step out onto that stage, Gerard knew what he wanted to say—what he had to say. Frank—his lover, his partner, the only reason he was still alive—was finally going to play another show and Gerard would not allow that to go unnoticed by the fans. He knew that if he simply said “Frank is back from medical leave and he’s ready to play a good fucking show,” the fans would clap and cheer and whistle, but they’d never _truly_ appreciate what they were getting.

If it weren’t for Frank, there would be no Gerard—no band, no music. And if what the fans said was true, a lot of them wouldn’t be alive to see the concert at that very moment. He wanted them to appreciate what Frank was doing for them. He wasn’t just coming out to strum a guitar for their pleasure—he was taking his life back.

So after Gerard went through all the necessary thanks and introductions, he let the formalities drop and said what he’d been waiting weeks to say. 

“As you all should fucking know, my bandmate, my partner…in music, Frank Iero, has been on medical leave for the past few weeks.” He looked from the crowd to Frank as he said it, loving the way Frank’s eyes went wide after he’d paused on the word ‘partner.’ The entire audience had gasped at that point, and then mixed laughter with cheers when he casually tacked on that Frank was his partner in music. “Not only has he been physically ill…he was also seriously injured. So if I don’t hear you fucking _scream_ for him, there won’t be a fucking show tonight.”

Of course, they screamed, but Gerard felt they could easily do better. If they didn’t appreciate Frank enough to scream until their voices were wrecked, they didn’t deserve to see him perform. 

“I can’t even fucking hear you!”

So they screamed a little louder. Gerard shook his head to voice his disapproval and glanced at the back corner of the stage where the techs were all scowling at him and gesturing for him to start the first song and shut his mouth. 

“He’s putting a lot on the line to come up and play for you tonight…and if you don’t show some fucking appreciation, he might never play a show again. Do you want to carry that weight?” Gerard knew exactly how to speak to them—the exact tone of voice to remain playful and yet serious, making them all wonder whether or not he was really being serious or if he was just taunting. The more he spoke, the louder the fans cheered until finally they reached the ear-splitting volume Gerard wanted and he let the show commence.


	31. The Only Friend that Makes You Cry

_Chapter 31_

His heart was still racing as he stepped off the stage, safe behind the shield of the curtains and walls. Fans were still screaming but he could hardly hear them over the ringing in his ears. He was dizzy and hot and sick to his stomach. Even the water he’d been given on stage didn’t help with the thirst, and when he poured it over his head it didn’t cool him down. The gesture made the fans scream though, as though they thought he did it for them—to intrigue them, to arouse them. 

Almost immediately after he stepped backstage, Gerard ambushed him. He was wrapped up in Gerard’s arms even though dozens of the techs were watching, and he felt Gerard’s lips in his cheek, then the corner of his mouth—then on his lips.

Frank squeaked and pushed against Gerard’s chest, eyes darting around to scan the faces of the people watching them. Gerard didn’t let go and Frank’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment he started to panic, but the thought that Gerard was still just high from being on stage kept him calm—calm enough to keep from screaming.

“I love you so fuckin’ much. You did so good, Frankie. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Frank choked, still writhing in Gerard’s grasp until the other man let him go. 

“I mean it,” Gerard said, looking Frank in the eye and offering him a twisted smile. There was fire and light in his eyes, the leftover buzz from the audience’s energy still surging through him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Frank said, his mouth running dry as he spotted Ray and the others coming toward them. He wasn’t ready to face them. He didn’t want to hear their forced happiness or their pride in him. He didn’t want praised for doing his job. 

Frank tried to turn away, but Gerard stopped him, holding onto his wrist. Forcing him to stay there and listen to the heaps of praise he didn’t want. 

“You were fuckin’ incredible,” Ray said, smiling a too-large smile. 

Gerard kept his arm around Frank’s shoulders and kept squeezing him and pressing kisses to the side of his head despite the sweat that slicked his hair.

“The fans loved it—you can tell they missed you.”

“How the fuck did they miss me?” Frank snapped, wanting to shut them all up before they started saying he was so tough, so strong to put himself back up on that stage after being raped. He didn’t want that attention from them. He wanted everything to go back to normal, and being crowded around and praised like a toddler that finally learned to use the toilet by itself was not normal. “Those people weren’t at the other shows—it doesn’t matter if I play for them or not.”

Finally he got that dumb grin off his bandmates’ faces. Mikey and Bob took the hint and walked past him, going off in search of water or booze.

“What’s wrong?” Ray asked.

Frank rolled his eyes and looked from his friend to Gerard who was _still_ kissing at his temple and squeezing him. 

“I don’t want you guys fussing over me—stop!” He pushed Gerard and this time his lover obeyed. Frank expected Gerard to snap at him or give him one of those pathetic, sad looks he had mastered over the years, but Gerard just chuckled at him and then walked away, hurrying to catch up with Mikey.

“Frank, what’s the matter?” Ray pushed his hair out of his face and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He looked exhausted and Frank immediately felt his defenses drop. It was easier one on one than it was with a crowd of people around him. He didn’t like the pressure of having to behave a certain way, and Ray knew him for who he was—before the band, before Gerard, before everything. 

“I don’t want you guys fussing over me.”

“No one’s fussing. We’re excited you played. We missed playing with you. It’s different with you on stage than one of the backup players. Gerard sings better when you’re there.”

“He sings better because he’s not as drunk as he usually would be—”

“Don’t try to discount how important you are to this band, Frank.” Ray was looking at him almost disappointed and Frank couldn’t stand the look in his eyes. He turned to glance over his shoulder in the direction that Gerard had gone, but his lover was missing and Frank frowned. “Gerard was a mess when we had to play without you. He sang worse than he did when he was drunk out of his mind. You can’t honestly think it wasn’t different when you didn’t play—”

“I know what he told you and I don’t like it,” Frank said.

“What are you—”

“Don’t fucking play dumb. I know what he told you and he had _no right_ to tell anyone about that.” The look on Ray’s face almost made Frank tear up. He had to look away from his friend. 

“Frank…I’m really sorry. I know why you didn’t want to say anything now. It doesn’t change anything, though.”

“Doesn’t change anything?” Frank hissed.

“Well… It changes a lot of things, but not the band. It doesn’t change who you are as a performer or—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want you mention it to me, I don’t want _Mikey_ to mention it to me—I don’t want to hear any of you fucking say that I’m ‘so strong’ or any of that shit. Okay? I don’t want it. I came here to do my job, and I’m gonna do it. That’s it.”

“Fine,” Ray said, putting his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I… I don’t know what to say then, Frank. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…don’t say anything,” Frank said, feeling guilt eating away at him. Ray was his best friend. He didn’t deserve to be attacked because Frank didn’t want to face what had happened. “I’m sorry—I just… I don’t—I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“We can go out to the bus…we don’t have to sign if you’re too tired.”

“I don’t know,” Frank sighed. “Where’s Gerard?”

“Let’s…let’s go find him. He’s probably trying to touch up his makeup before signing.”

Frank sighed and let Ray lead him through the back channels of the venue. He didn’t feel at ease until Gerard was near him again. It was strange to find himself feeling dependent on his partner, but it made sense. The crowds made him anxious and being on his own made him paranoid and fearful that he might be cornered again—nothing could possibly make him feel safer than the man who had willingly committed murder to protect him. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard let his hand slip down Frank’s side, coming to rest on his hip while he worked their mouths together. Every few seconds Frank would break away, sometimes to breathe, sometimes to gasp, but he never pulled away completely. He had his hands on Gerard’s hips, holding him close but leaving several inches of space between their bodies. Gerard could respect that—Frank would need space in order to feel secure and in control. As long as their lips stayed touching, Gerard couldn’t be bothered how close to him the rest of Frank’s body was.

He had his other hand resting against the back of Frank’s neck as they kissed. It surprised him that Frank was the one who opened his mouth first and let his tongue slide across Gerard’s bottom lip. The kiss became a little deeper—a little wetter—and before long Frank was letting out small, shuddery breaths whenever they would pull apart.

Frank’s hands sank a little lower on Gerard’s hips and fingers started digging in as he let out a quiet whimper. 

They had the bunk area of the bus to themselves. The others were out in the small living room area, giving Frank his space. Giving the couple their privacy.

“I can take care of you,” Gerard whispered. Immediately Frank stiffened and Gerard felt his spirits sink. When Frank turned his face away, breaking their intimate kiss, Gerard kissed his cheek and then his ear. “I’d be really gentle,” Gerard added before kissing just beneath Frank’s ear and then running his tongue slowly along the shell.

He extracted a small moan from Frank moved a little closer, his hips nearly touching Gerard’s. When he started nibbling Frank’s ear, he finally got his lover to press against him in search of friction. Gerard knew better than to move too quickly. If he scared Frank now, if he pushed too hard too fast and broke his trust, he would never get it back. Never.

“I can’t,” Frank whispered despite the fact he was slowly, twitching his hips against Gerard’s.

“Why?” Gerard asked, sucking gently on Frank’s pulse until he extracted another moan. “I’d be so good to you—I’ll go real slow.” He licked a slow stripe up Frank’s neck from his collarbone up to his jaw, demonstrating just how good his mouth could feel on Frank’s skin.

“I haven’t been tested yet,” Frank stammered. “I could have something—I can’t give it to you.” His words turned into another shaky gasp as Gerard ran his tongue along the shell of Frank’s ear.

“You’ve been on antibiotics for weeks. You don’t have anything, Baby.” 

“I could have AIDS,” Frank whispered, shaking his head in an attempt to get Gerard’s mouth off of his sensitive skin. 

“No—You’re clean.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Shh. Let me take care of you. You deserve it, Baby. I’ll be so good to you.”

Frank moaned as Gerard returned to kissing and sucking his neck, and after a few strategic nips to his sweet spots, Frank nodded and let Gerard sink to his knees in front of him. He started swearing under his breath as Gerard unfastened his belt, his hands clenching and unclenching as they hung at his sides. 

He could tell before he even slid Frank’s jeans down just a few precious inches—just enough to be able to reach the hem of his boxers and eventually expose his length—that Frank was starting to panic. His breathing had become sporadic and even though he was still aroused, his body was starting to tremble from more than anticipation. 

Gerard took the initiative to plant more kisses on Frank’s hips and his stomach, running his tongue over one of the birds on his abdomen until the shaking had mostly subsided and all of Frank’s focus seemed to be on his straining arousal. 

Gerard looked up at him just before unzipping Frank’s jeans and watched as his lover’s eyes clouded with fear all over again. One of Frank’s hands moved to his stomach, covering the stab wound Gerard knew was there. He didn’t know if it was hurting him or if he was scared this was all a ploy so Gerard could get a look at the stitches since his lover was always trying to catch glimpses of them and try to kiss them better.

“I love you, Frank,” Gerard whispered, pressing another kiss to Frank’s hip before grasping the hem of his boyfriend’s boxers and pulling them down. 

Frank let out a noise of fear and sank his teeth into his bottom lip. Gerard chose to ignore it, deciding instead to give all of his attention to every inch of skin he’d exposed. He reached out to grasp the base of Frank’s erection, earning a loud gasp from his partner, and then pressed a soft kiss to the tip.

“You don’t need to do this—we shouldn’t do this,” Frank said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Do you not want to?” Gerard asked, moving his hand just slightly, knowing he was teasing but hopeful that it would be enough to get Frank to cave. 

“I…I like it. But I might…I could have something.”

Gerard took a risk and sucked the tip of Frank’s cock into his mouth. His boyfriend made a sound like a sob, but immediately thrust forward. Gerard took in as much as he could, swallowing around the length and working his hand over the skin he couldn’t fit in his mouth. 

Frank started moaning, sometimes from pleasure other times from conflict. Gerard could tell the difference in the emotions backing the noise. The higher the pitch, the more pleasure he felt, the lower, the more grief and distress. It saddened him that Frank wouldn’t let himself give in to the good feelings, but knew it would take more than lips and tongue to get through to him. 

Gerard pulled back to the head and swirled his tongue around the tip, collecting the small drops of bitter precum and locking eyes with Frank as swallowed them down. Frank understood it then that if he had a disease, Gerard now had it too and there was no going back. At first his eyes filled with sheer distress, but Gerard deep throated him a moment later and dedicated himself to offering nothing other than pleasure. 

The moans of grief never completely stopped not even when Frank started to reach the edge, but the high-pitched whines and shrill gasps became more and more frequent until he came—all of his sweet noises being choked off as he shot into Gerard’s mouth. 

Gerard swallowed without a second thought, making sure Frank’s eyes were on him as he did it. Gerard never willingly swallowed for anyone ever, and Frank knew that. So when Gerard had swallowed and then continued sucking him and lapping up every last drop, Frank knew what it meant. 

His eyes filled with a happiness Gerard hadn’t seen in months—since before the tour ever started. He kept sucking until Frank dropped down onto the floor to escape the over-stimulation. He hurriedly tucked himself back into his jeans as soon as he was sat on the floor, and then his happiness vanished all at once. Gerard began to feel anxious, his mind racing as he tried to think of what he’d done wrong. 

When he reached for Frank to kiss his cheek, Frank shook his head and lowered his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked, coming to sit at Frank’s side instead of in front of him. Frank’s hands were shaking has he tried to refasten his belt and Gerard didn’t know why his pleasure had turned so quickly to fear. 

“I can’t,” Frank said, his voice trembling. 

“Your…your belt?” Gerard asked, daring to reach over to help him only to have Frank flinch violently away from him. “Frank?”

“I can’t… I just—Gerard, I’m not _ready;_ I can’t.”

“You don’t need to do anything for me, Frank,” Gerard said, pressing a kiss onto Frank’s cheek quickly and then scooting over to put a little more space between them so Frank could feel more calm. “I just wanted to see you happy.”

Frank let out a low, sad moan and leaned over, putting his head on Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard turned to kiss the top of his head and smiled, scooting back over to better support Frank’s weight without straining his partner’s neck. 

“I love you,” Gerard said.

“I love you too,” Frank replied, sounding like he was going to cry. Gerard didn’t want him to cry. He wanted that happiness to come back—that euphoria and bliss. “I didn’t want to get you sick. I promised I wouldn’t let this happen—I don’t want you sick because of me.” Frank started crying and Gerard frowned. 

“It’s okay,” Gerard said. “I’m not going to get sick. We’re fine.”

“I could have _anything— _I was supposed to find a place to get tested but I didn’t. I didn’t want to…”__

__He didn’t want Frank to feel guilty for this. That had never been his intention._ _

__“Frank…We’re fine. If you had anything, it would present by now.”_ _

__“Not AIDS,” Frank muttered. “Not hepatitis or…god knows what.”_ _

__“You’re not sick,” Gerard said, kissing the top of Frank’s head._ _

__“I need to make an appointment before we play in New York. I’ll get tested…”_ _

__“I don’t want you to be sad, Frank. I did this for you—I wanted you to be happy.”_ _

__“And I’m fucking it up with crying, I know. I’m such a fucking hypocrite. I got mad at you all the time because we’d have something nice then you would get upset—but I know how it feels now and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Don’t be sorry,” Gerard said, putting his arm around Frank’s shoulder and hugging him. “I love you. I wanted to you to relax and be happy. It made me happy you were on stage tonight and I know you didn’t want to be up there. So I wanted to see you happy.”_ _

__“I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Don’t be sorry,” Gerard repeated. He smiled as Frank curled into his side, nuzzling Gerard’s shoulder. It felt reassuring to have Frank cuddle against him—to have Frank trusting him. “I love you so much.”_ _

__“I love you too,” Frank whispered. He was starting to calm down and Gerard looked behind them at the bunks._ _

__“Do you want to lie down?”_ _

__“Okay,” Frank whispered, moving with Gerard as he stood up from the floor. He let Frank crawl into his bunk first and then folded himself in next to him. Gerard smiled when Frank stayed closed to him. Usually Frank kept those few inches of space between them even in the bunk after his nightmares, but now he let his head press against Gerard’s chest and stayed that way. He wanted to be close. “I can’t wait to go home. I want to sleep in my bed…”_ _

__“With our dogs,” Gerard added._ _

__“Yeah. And I want good coffee in the morning.”_ _

__“Mm… I want my good sketch pads,” Gerard said._ _

__“I want to be able to shower every day… I don’t like feeling unclean.”_ _

__“I miss…movie nights.”_ _

__“Me too,” Frank whispered, draping his arm over Gerard’s side and holding onto him. “I want to be home…”_ _

__“Soon,” Gerard said, kissing Frank on the forehead. “I get Bear will be happy to see you.”_ _

__“Just Bear?” Frank asked, sounding distant and sleepy. “Not Pig?”_ _

__“Pig likes me more because I feed him from the table.”_ _

__“Yeah, you’re the reason he’s fat.”_ _

__“Well he’s hungry.”_ _

__Frank laughed a little bit and then started shifting around until he managed to get the blanket over his shoulder. It didn’t take him long to settle into sleep and Gerard followed soon after._ _


	32. Did You Come to Stare

_Chapter 32_

Frank swallowed hard pulled down his jeans, exposing himself to the doctor who promised this would only hurt a bit—and only for a moment. He’d gone through this before and knew that it hurt—it hurt like hell—and Frank braced himself for the inevitable pain to come. Gerard had asked to come with him, but Frank refused. He didn’t want Gerard to watch him go through this. He didn’t know what Gerard would do if he saw a doctor make him cry with one small gesture.

He took in a deep breath as he watched doctor grabbed one of the cotton swabs from the jar on the counter, then braced himself. He stared past the doctor at the wall and fought to keep from biting his lip, his heart beginning to pound as he felt the doctor grasp his flaccid member. Seconds later came the piercing explosion of pain as the head of the cotton swab was forced into his urethra. 

It took all of his will power not to make a sound as it happened, but nothing stopped his eyes from watering or his hands from clenching into tight fists. Any bit of pride he had had when entering the clinic left him. He didn’t care about the dirty looks the nurses gave him when he told them he wanted tested everywhere for everything—blood work, throat cultures, _this_ horrible screening. 

Even after the doctor pulled away from him, the pain continued—a dull ache that made him want to curl into a ball. But he couldn’t give in to that instinct. He could curl up later in the bunks—with or without Gerard. Here, he was going to have to be a man, put his dick away, laugh off the discomfort like it didn’t remind him of the worst night of his life, and thank the doctor for working him in to his schedule. 

The results would be in after about a week, and Frank could call the number on his paperwork to get them since he wouldn’t be home to receive his results by mail. 

After leaving the clinic, Frank was supposed to hail a cab and go back to the venue, but instead he just kept walking. He didn’t want to see Gerard yet—didn’t want to have his boyfriend coddle him and fuss over him and cry over him. 

He stopped for a cup of a coffee from a gas station and sipped at it as he continued down the street. He passed busy outlet malls, then ended up walking alongside a busy high way before ducking down a side street that led him to rows of suburban houses. 

Frank kept his hood up as he walked, knowing no one out here could possibly recognize him but enjoying the comfort it gave him. With his hood up he felt invisible, like no one would notice him if he walked through their town and then just disappeared. It was an odd fantasy—one he hadn’t had since he was a teenager. To just wander off and disappear… Never be seen again. Never to be heard from again. 

He’d done it once before. One day he’d been living with his mother, secretly saving up every spare dime he had, and then the next he’d moved out into his own apartment without saying a word to his mother or even giving her a phone number to call. 

He could do it again. He could just keep walking. There was about five hundred dollars in his wallet…he could just keep walking. Until he starved. Or got robbed. Or tripped and fell into a river and drowned. 

He understood now. Frank understood so much now. The more he walked, the colder it got, the more it started to look like rain, the more he understood. With every step he hated himself more and more. There wasn’t even a sidewalk where he was walking now yet he had no desire to turn back. 

Gerard had been raped once when they’d been dating. A man broke into their home, demolished it, and then attacked him. Broke his wrist, broke his nose, beat him into submission and sodomized him in his own bed. 

Not even half a year later, Frank dumped him—abandoned him—all because he’d gotten it in his head that Gerard wanted to leave him. Gerard begged Frank not to do it. Frank hadn’t listened. Gerard cried and pleaded, then walked off. He got in his car and nearly froze to death because he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the backseat of his car once he’d climbed there.

Frank understood that now. He knew what that desperation felt like. If he knew it wouldn’t break Gerard’s heart, Frank wouldn’t even bother turning back and looking for the road. He would just keep walking until his legs gave out. 

He just felt so empty. All he wanted in the world was to be next to Gerard, but through the small bit of comfort he was plagued with more guilt. If it wasn’t guilt over what he’d done wrong in the past, it was over letting Gerard put himself at risk for catching something—possibly even something incurable—and if not that, he felt nothing but pain when he thought of the life he and Gerard would have now. 

Frank couldn’t support him like he was supposed to. He couldn’t protect him or defend him. Frank was worthless. As a partner, as a boyfriend, as a _friend_ in general. Even as a bandmate. He couldn’t play worth a shit anymore. He broke his own guitar… He was worthless. So fucking worthless, and Gerard was stuck with him.

He wanted to believe that Gerard wouldn’t leave him, that Gerard would stay patient and support him like he needed. But why would Gerard bother to do that when Frank hadn’t done the same for him? He’d thrown Gerard out after his assault. Now it was Gerard’s turn to return the favor. 

After walking aimlessly for two hours, Frank felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He was tempted to ignore it, but as soon as it sunk in that someone was reaching out to him, he latched onto the contact. It made him realize just how lonely he felt, and no matter how depressed he was becoming, he didn’t want to go through this alone. 

“Hello?”

“Frankie? Where are you? You were supposed to be back an hour ago. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…I went for a walk.” Frank stopped and looked around him. There was a house in the distance and an empty road beside him that he’d started following. Everything else was open fields. 

“We’ve got to get ready for makeup soon…so do you want me to send you a cab? Are you near the venue?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it tonight, Gerard,” Frank said softly. 

“What? Why—Frank, what’s wrong? Where are you?” Gerard seemed to sense that something was wrong, maybe even understanding that things were more serious than Frank wanted to let on. 

“I’m… I’m just out,” Frank said, unable to make his tone of voice anything other than apathetic. He felt like he could cry at any moment but he didn’t want to—he didn’t want to feel pain anymore.

“Frank?”

“Yeah…”

“Baby, where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said. “Somewhere.”

“In town?”

“No… Not anywhere, really. Kind of…out.”

“Frank, you need to come back,” Gerard said, his voice suddenly becoming urgent. “What are you doing out there?”

“Just walking…”

“No you’re not—did you hurt yourself? Frank, did you…did you _do something?_ ”

“No. I’m fine I just…got lost.” 

“Frank, I’m scared. Where are you?”

“I don’t _know,_ Gerard,” Frank said, beginning to approach the house—the only structure in his area. He knew the people who lived there would never open the door for him—some short freak with a bad haircut and oversized clothes—but he could get the address, maybe and have Gerard send someone to find him.

“I love you, Frank. Please don’t…please don’t hang up. We can talk this over.”

“I’m not going to hang up,” Frank mumbled, hating how desperate he’d made his boyfriend sound. 

“Okay. Okay—just…just tell me what’s around you. I’ll send someone to find you. Are there any stores?”

“I’m in a field, Gerard.”

“Shit… Um, fuck… Okay—well, we’ll find you. Don’t give up on me. I… I’m gonna find you. I won’t go on stage if you’re not here.”

“There’s…there’s a house.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, sounding excited. “You can get their address. What street are you on?”

“I don’t know, Gerard. I told you. I’m in a field. It’s a back road or something. There aren’t street signs.”

“Does your phone have enough battery to run GPS? You could turn it on and get your location. I’ll send the cops to find you if I have to, Baby. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”

“I can try GPS,” Frank said, looking down to check his battery. He had 45% left. He put the phone on speaker and sat down on the slightly muddy grass as he turned on the GPS. It took several minutes and few battery percentage points but he finally got a set of coordinates. Somehow he’d ended up five miles outside of the city where their next show was to be hosted. Walking back, for him, could take well over three hours. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go find somebody who can take me to come find you. Promise me you’re not going to keep walking.”

“I’ll stay on this road and walk toward the city. I won’t…wander off again.”

“Thank you. I’m going to hang up, but I’ll text you. I don’t want your phone to die. Please be safe, Frankie.”

“I will,” Frank whispered. “Gerard?”

“Yeah, Baby?”

“I’m sorry.” As soon as he said it, the tears rushed him. 

“It’s okay. You needed space. I understand. Next time, just stay in town though. I don’t want you to get hit out there or kidnapped. I love you, Frank.”

“I love you, too,” Frank said, sniffing back tears. He didn’t want Gerard to hang up the phone. He didn’t want to be alone again. 

“I’ll text you when I find someone, okay? Just hang in there.”

“Okay,” Frank whispered, lowering his phone from his ear and watching as the call disconnected. He waited and waited for the text to come, but it took nearly thirty minutes before it finally did. 

“Onmy Way,” Gerard texted.

“I love you,” Frank sent back. 

Gerard sent him a heart; Frank sent one in return. 

“R U OK?” Gerard asked him.

“I miss you.”

Gerard sent him another heart and a frowny face. Moments later he sent a text saying they would be together again soon. 

“I love you,” Frank sent, knowing it was redundant but unable to help himself. He needed Gerard to say it back. He needed to know his partner was still with him even if he was little more than damaged goods that needed scraped off the side of the road. 

“I love you 2 but youre scaring me.”

Frank stared at the text for a long time—so long Gerard texted him a second time.

“Are you OK? Im worried.”

“I miss you. I’m sorry.”

“Frank please tell me if you did something to hurt yourself. Im really worried.”

“No. I don’t want to be out here anymore. I don’t want you to be late to the show.” He added a frowning face before sending the text. 

“I don’t care about the show. I care about you.”

Care. He said care. Not love… 

Frank didn’t text back no matter how many times his phone buzzed. When he heard a car coming down the road, however, Frank stood up quickly and looked around. There was a white minivan travelling down the road at a slow pace, and almost as soon as Frank spotted it, it came to a stop. The passenger door flew open and Gerard stumbled out. 

“Frank?” Gerard tripped a few times as he tried to run to Frank’s side. Frank ran to meet him as well, immediately wrapping his arms around Gerard’s shoulders. He managed to keep from falling into hysterics, but only barely. When he felt Gerard’s arms around him, squeezing him tight, all of the bad feelings left him. He couldn’t even feel guilt—despite the fact that he’d made his boyfriend abandon his responsibilities to come find him. “Are you okay, Baby?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” Frank whispered, snuggling into Gerard’s chest before forcing himself to take a step back. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, but you scared me. I didn’t know what to think—I… Shit, I thought you came out here to _die._ I knew I shouldn’t have let you go to your appointment by yourself.” 

Frank didn’t protest as Gerard led him back the minivan. The drive said nothing to him as they both climbed into the backseat. Frank leaned against his shoulder, Gerard’s arm around his waist without an inch of space between them. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Tonight was the night. 

The night both his parents were coming to see him perform. He had tried and tried to get them tickets to separate shows, knowing they would fight in they saw each other, but the other show was sold out. On any other occasion that would be a cause for celebration, but not now. 

“I think your parents are here,” Gerard said, coming up behind Frank in the dressing room. Frank was staring at himself in the mirror, trying to talk himself down from panicking. 

“Wh-what? Why?”

“I don’t know. Someone said they were looking for you.”

“Looking for me? Why—why is someone looking for me? Who was it?”

“It was one of the techs.”

“Why would my parents be here now? Doors don’t even open for another three hours.”

Gerard hummed and wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist, nuzzling the back of his neck before propping his chin on Frank’s shoulder, looking at him through the mirror.

“Because I called them last night and told them if they came early then they could visit with you.”

“You called—you called my _father?_ ”

“Well…kind of. I pretended to be a rep from the label. I don’t know. It was scary.”

“When did you do that?”

“When you were sleeping.”

“You called my parents in the middle of the night?”

“I pretended to be in LA,” Gerard said, smiling as though he thought that was a good excuse. 

“Gerard, that’s rude,” Frank mumbled. “Shit…”

There was a knock on the door and Gerard let Frank go, putting some space between them before the door opened and one of the stagehands stepped in. The young woman looked nervous though she tried to force a smile.

“Hi—Frank? Your… _family_ is here. Remember, if they need anything there’s water and vending machines in the back hall. Just don’t let them get on stage.” She forced a laugh and then pushed the door the rest of the way open. As soon as it was, she backed away and Frank got to catch the first glimpse of his mother and father standing side by side since his adolescence. 

Just like his childhood, they did not look pleased. 

“Is that your dad?” Gerard whispered, trying to worm his way behind Frank even though Frank was pressed against the counter. 

“Yeah,” Frank said, turning his head to glance behind him at Gerard who was trying so hard to disappear. 

“I thought I was coming to a rock show,” his father said, coming into the room and opening his arms wide for an embrace. “And here you are in a button-down and slacks. Are you playing guitar or doing someone’s taxes?” 

Frank stepped away from Gerard to hug his father, smiling a little despite the aura of hostility radiating between his parents. His father clapped him on the back and then pulled away. Frank stepped over to hug his mother his huffed in his ear but hugged him back regardless and pressed a fast kiss onto his cheek before he stepped away. 

“Dad, this is Gerard,” Frank said, turning back his boyfriend who was pressed against the counter and mirror. Gerard met hundreds of people every day and had yet to cower from a single one of them, even after he started to slow down on the drinking. 

“Gerard,” Frank’s father said, going to shake Gerard’s hand. 

It took Gerard a moment to reciprocate, but he was able to smile for Frank’s father as they shook hands—and then he immediately went to stand behind Frank. No one would ever believe the man who cowered after a handshake would ever be capable of homicide. 

“So, who all are we seeing tonight?” His father asked, not bothering to mask the confusion on his face caused by Gerard’s behavior.

“We’ve got a good lineup,” Frank said, smiling at his father and then looking over at his mother who continued to appear displeased. He started listing off the names of the bands that would play before them and those playing after them. 

“Oh, God. I don’t have to stay for that entire racket, do I?” His mother asked, rubbing at her face already in frustration.

“No. After we play you can come and say goodbye. You can be out of here before The Used even starts playing.” It hurt him, for some reason, that his mother didn’t want to stay. He knew this wasn’t exactly the 60-plus-year-old’s scene, but it would’ve been nice if she showed _any_ excitement over being there. He started to feel guilty for giving her the tickets at all. Maybe she didn’t want to come. Maybe he’d somehow pressured her into it. “Or…or you could just go,” he found himself saying, trying to muster anger as quickly as he could because he’s breaths were getting shaky and he didn’t understand why he was about to fucking _cry_ because his mother didn’t want to stick around. It meant _nothing._ It’s _wasn’t_ personal—but he would’ve rather had her not come at all instead of make it apparent that she was here when she didn’t want to be.

“Don’t be like that, Frank,” his mother said, her tone softening. 

“If you didn’t want to come, you shouldn’t have.”

“Frank,” his father said, daring to scold him. 

Gerard tensed up at the harsh voices and came to stand a little closer to him, letting his shoulder brush against Frank’s. On any other day, Frank probably would’ve pushed him away or at least sidestepped him—maybe even tell him to back off—but he no longer had the nerve. He wanted Gerard there, backing him, supporting him. 

“I want to see _you_ play, Frank. That’s why I came here. I didn’t mean it to sound like I would have rather stayed at home,” she said to him. 

It didn’t sound genuine to him and his rage kept simmering until he felt Gerard nuzzling the back of his head. He was able to focus on the gentle touches which irked him at first before a few brief kisses to the back of his neck subdued his rage. 

Gerard’s affection, his undivided attention—Frank needed that. It was too valuable to throw away with a temper tantrum that only served the purpose of proving he was irritated. 

“Fine,” Frank said, shaking the hair out of his face and looking down toward the floor. “Sorry—I just don’t… I’m not myself right now. That’s it—that’s all there is to it.”

“Well you’re still recovering,” his mother said, finally losing that look of irritation. 

“Yeah, what the hell happened with that, Frank? I get a call from your mother saying you’re in the hospital from an accident, then it’s an attempted homicide, then you call and say it was no big deal. Scared the hell out of me,” his father said, looking from Frank to Gerard as if expecting the man to inform him since Frank kept his silence.

“It’s…a mess. I don’t really want to talk about it,” Frank said.

“You know I would’ve flown out to see you if it weren’t for my bad heart,” his father added, his face becoming sad as though he thought his son was angry at him for not visiting him in the hospital. “The doctor said I shouldn’t fly—”

“Dad, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have wanted you there.”

“I tried to come out there, but my _card_ was declined,” his mother said, always trying to prove herself to be the superior parent. “I was there to buy my plane ticket and they had the nerve to tell me I’d maxed out my card.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be buying so much junk—”

“Oh, shut up,” she hissed at her ex-husband.

“You know I’m teasing you—”

“Shut. Up.”

“Okay,” Frank interjected, clapping his hands together just to make a loud enough sound to startle both of his parents before they could go into a full-blown argument. “So—we’ve got a little bit of time before they need to test our equipment. Do you want to meet the rest of the band?”

“That sounds good—”

_“Yes._ That would be nice,” his mother said, speaking over her ex-husband.

This was going to be a hell of a night…


	33. If I Ever Let You Down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of action (just a lot of fluff) in this chap, but bear with me--stuff happens in the next one...I think.

_Chapter 33_

There was a private box in the balcony over the general admissions floor, used to keep VIPs and special guests safe from the fans who might recognize or attack them. It was where the other bands could watch their touring partners play if not backstage. That was where Frank’s parents were kept, not because it was feared people might recognize them, but rather because they were VIPs—very _old_ VIPs although no one would say that to their faces. 

So after showing his mother and father off to Mikey, Bob, and Ray, they were ushered to the VIP box and told a tech would come to retrieve them after MCR’s show and take them backstage to socialize a little bit longer before they said their goodbyes. 

When it was finally time for them to go on stage, Frank was surprised to find himself completely nerve wracked. He felt as bad as he had the very first time he’d ever played a live show and that feeling still hadn’t gone away by the halfway point of their set. Gerard could sense it, too. 

He kept coming over to Frank’s side of the stage and singing near him, sometimes even standing in front of him as if to block him from view or shield him from his parents and the crowd. If he stayed there too long, however, a voice would come over their ear pieces telling him to get back to his own space. Once he was even accused of being an attention whore which Gerard addressed after his song had ended by speaking into his microphone that, yes, he was, in fact, a whore. 

Frank couldn’t even begin to imagine what his parents had to think of his boyfriend randomly announcing that to their audience. The fans all cheered though, so Frank hoped his mother and father would believe that was something normal—just a part of the show—not at all Gerard being a drama queen over getting scolded. 

Even that reprimand didn’t keep him in line, however. A little while after returning to his spot at center stage, Gerard started creeping over toward Frank again. A voice in their ear pieces told Gerard not to even think about it—so Gerard flipped off the crowd since he couldn’t very well stop singing to tell the tech to fuck off. 

Frank took the initiative to at least pretend to be engaged in his performance. He hadn’t spent the show playing standing still or cowering by one of the monitors, but he could hardly claim to have been giving it his all. The fans may not have put much meaning to the fact that he played farther back on the stage than usual, but Gerard understood it and they couldn’t miss the fact that Gerard wouldn’t leave him alone. 

Several times Gerard even poked Frank on the shoulder as he played and would then scurry back over to his spot on the stage before the voice in their ears could tell him to. 

Even by the time their set had ended, Frank’s nerves were still high. He felt he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack and he couldn’t place why. Reasoning didn’t help him either, and knowing that his nervousness made Gerard nervous added more fuel to the fire. 

When he caught sight of his mother and father returning backstage, guided by one of the stage techs, Frank’s stomach tightened even though both of them were smiling. His mother hugged him, but pulled away fast, cringing a little when she came away coated in his sweat. Frank didn’t have time to dwell on it before his father grabbed him into a casual hug, slapping him on the back a few times before letting him go. 

“You did go—great show,” his father said. He then turned to Gerard and the other band members who were chugging water by the bottle. “Great show.”

Frank watched Gerard try to muster a smile for the other man, but his boyfriend just couldn’t do it. Instead of standing behind Frank, however, he took to standing behind Mikey under the guise of giving him feedback about their show. 

“Has he got a problem with me?” Frank’s father asked. 

“He’s scared of men,” Frank said, hoping he was speaking softly but really unable to tell. Being on stage with all the loud equipment had left him mostly deaf. “I’ve told you that before.”

“Yeah, I know—but he won’t even say hello.”

“He’s just like that,” Frank’s mother said. She then made a point to go over to Gerard and got a hug from him, just to rub it in her ex-husband’s face that she could get closer to Gerard than he could. 

“He’ll…he’ll come around. We’ll visit you while we’re on break. We’ve only got two more shows here and then we’re home for Jersey.”

“He acts like I tried to murder him. I don’t think a change of location is gonna change that,” his father said.

Frank sighed and looked over his shoulder at Gerard and his mother.

“Gerard—come here,” he called. His boyfriend looked at him anxiously, but started creeping over with Linda at his side. “Come on. Be sociable.”

“Okay,” Gerard whispered, wrapping an arm around Frank’s shoulders in a quick hug. 

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Frank whispered into his ear. Gerard nodded and tried to force a smile. 

“Frank said…you played drums,” Gerard said, looking from Frank’s father to the ground. 

Frank’s father tried to hold a conversation with him about his past in music, but it was obvious that Gerard was still too uncomfortable to really partake. Frank tried and tried to coax him out of his shell, but nothing worked and he could tell that it was making Gerard sadder by the minute. 

After a while, he just let Gerard run off with Mikey and entertained his parents on his own. He led them back to the dressing room where there were more bottles of water and chairs. Both of his parents sat down so Frank leaned against the wall and sipped idly at his water, trying to think of something to tell them that wouldn’t look like he was trying to change the subject from Gerard’s standoffish behavior. 

“So that’s really the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with?” His father asked, his sighing tone showing his disapproval. 

“Yeah, Dad, it is.”

“I’m not trying to criticize, he just—”

“Oh, stop,” Linda interjected. “That’s exactly what you’re doing. Mind you, _I_ wasn’t very pleased with Gerard either when I first met him, but he’s not a bad man. A little…awkward, but not bad.”

“Guys, he’s my partner. He…he’s been with me through everything. If I didn’t have him, I don’t think I would’ve gotten through… _this,_ ” he added, gesturing to his abdomen where his stab wound was. 

As he learned, that wasn’t the best idea either.

“Frankie, you never did tell me exactly what happened with that. I called the hospital but they wouldn’t tell me anything,” his mother said, crossing her arms and leaning forward in her seat.

“I told you on the phone—I got jumped by some guys…they stabbed me. That’s the end of it.”

“But I don’t understand—was it a fan? Why would anyone have a reason to _stab_   
you?”

“I don’t know,” Frank snapped. He would sooner die than admit it was all because of his boyfriend. “Can we not talk about this right now? I was really excited to see you—why do you have to ruin it?”

“I don’t mean to ruin it,” his mother said.

“You’re right—I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something else. How are you holding up on the tour otherwise? Do they pay you enough for food?”

“Yeah. They pay us a couple times a month. We don’t get the chance to really eat anything good though. Mostly just fast food.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” his mother said, shaking her head. “When you’re back in Jersey, bring Gerard over and I’ll fix you boys something.”

“That would be nice,” Frank said, nodding. 

“I’d offer to take you guys to the bar, but they don’t serve veggie burger at Jerry’s.”

“That’s true,” Frank said with a laugh. “Maybe we’ll go see a movie or something—we’ll find something.”

They kept talking for nearly an hour, catching up on family drama from both sides and sharing stories about the tour. When his parents were standing up to leave, Gerard crept into the dressing room—his stage makeup all washed off—and came to stand behind Frank. He wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist and nuzzled his shoulder, either trying to apologize for being so shy or trying to use affection to hide the fact that he was still scared. 

“Frank?”

“Hm?” Frank turned his head to place a soft kiss onto Gerard’s cheek. 

“Is this okay?” 

“Yeah?—Why?” Frank asked, laughing a little as Gerard nuzzled him a bit more.

“I don’t know,” Gerard whispered, sounding so small and self-conscious. 

“Well, Mom and Dad are about to go so—”

“I know. I wanted to say goodbye.”

“So are you going to say it to them or am I translating?” Frank asked, making sure to sound humored so Gerard wouldn’t get upset. The day had been stressful enough and the last thing Frank needed was to have Gerard fall apart on him.

Gerard let out a soft sound—not exactly a whimper and not really a groan—and let go of Frank. It was almost painful to watch him go over to his parents, and even when Linda hugged him goodbye, Gerard treated her as though she were a stranger, not really wanting her touch. He shook Frank’s father’s hand and tried to force on a smile, but failed horribly. 

Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d gotten Gerard wasted before his parents came. Gerard was a lot more sociable when he was drunk…

“You take care of Frank now, you got that?” Frank’s father said, clapping Gerard on the shoulder after their handshake had ended. 

“Yes, sir,” Gerard mumbled, looking down as he spoke. It was strange to Frank. He hadn’t seen Gerard act that way toward anyone, really. In front of Frank’s father he was completely submissive—unsure of what to do with himself and often looking in Frank’s direction in search of reassurance or a command. 

Frank’s father looked confused by the behavior and Frank was certain he was going to have to answer for it in a phone call someday soon-hopefully someday that Gerard was off with Mikey.

( ) ( ) ( )

“We need to talk,” Frank said as soon as the hotel door closed behind them. Gerard let out a soft whine, but didn’t protest. He sank down onto the bed and looked at Frank almost fearfully. 

“I’m sorry about earlier. You know I’m not good at meeting new people,” Gerard said. Frank waited for him to tack on that he was still traumatized from his masters, but it never came. 

“You meet new people every day.”

“Not people that are important to you,” Gerard said. He looked up at Frank who was digging through his suitcase for fresh night clothes.

“All you had to do was be nice. I don’t understand why you couldn’t just…smile or something.” He made a point not to sound angry. Frank wasn’t _mad_ at his boyfriend, he was confused. For weeks Gerard had been acting as the defender—the brave one since Frank had less than half of the valor he used to. Now he was back to playing the part of the helpless victim.

“I… I’m _sorry._ I just… Frank, I was scared that I’d say something wrong and he wouldn’t like me and…I know I kind of made that happen tonight and I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to mess it up and I couldn’t think of anything to say.”

“You didn’t have to act any different. My dad knows I love you. His opinion of you doesn’t change that.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Gerard, honestly, what have I ever done to make you feel that I would leave you because someone else told me to?”

“Nothing, but…” Gerard was quiet for a long time and stared down at his lap. Frank almost spoke up to break the silence, but decided he wanted to hear what his partner had to say. “I didn’t want to let you down. I know I did anyway, but…it’d hurt me more if I said something stupid and you left me because he didn’t like me.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“I know, but I get scared. You’re everything to me—I’ve almost lost you so many times and I can’t take it.” Gerard looked up then and met Frank’s gaze. He looked heartbroken even though nothing had gone wrong. “I know that I shouldn’t have gotten so nervous—I asked Mikey to help calm me down—but nothing helped and…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Frank said, crossing the room and coming to sit next to Gerard on the bed. He leaned over and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. He would’ve gone for his partner’s lips, but Gerard didn’t turn to face him. “What’s wrong? You know I’m not mad at you, right? I worry a lot about what you’re thinking. I’m…I’m _worried,_ not mad.”

“It’s nothing—”

“It’s not, though. Something’s bothering you. You can tell me.”

“Frank, I don’t want to unload on you. You don’t deserve that right now.”

“I’m not gonna break. You can tell me what’s on your mind. We’re still partners. We’re supposed to help each other.”

“I just don’t want to see you upset anymore. I don’t want to bring it up.”

Frank felt his stomach tighten and sighed. He knew exactly what his boyfriend didn’t want to say. 

“Gerard, just because I got hurt doesn’t mean you can’t lean on me anymore. If something’s bothering you, just tell me.”

“I-I… I don’t… I don’t want to upset you,” Gerard said, starting to chew his bottom lip as tears welled in his eyes. 

“Sweetheart, just tell me. We’ve got time… You’ll feel better if you do.” It had been a while since they’d actually talked. Yes, there were brief discussions, short arguments, but they hadn’t gone deep into conversation since before the tour. 

“Since…since you got hurt I just… It’s like the last time—at the diner, you know? It scared me. I thought I was going to lose you and… It’s selfish and _crazy_ but I don’t know how to live without you. You’re all I know. Even when we broke up, you were in the back of my mind. So when it happened again and you…” He paused before adding on in a soft whisper, “when your heart stopped the first time and they told me they were trying to resuscitate you, I… I couldn’t even breathe. Then they said you were okay, and then the next day your heart stopped again and I didn’t think you were going to be okay.”

“But I’m fine now,” Frank said, trying to think of anything he could say to get the look of sheer devastation off of Gerard’s face. 

“But you _weren’t_ then. And the worst thing was that I felt so alone that day… Like no one else felt what I did. I know that Ray was upset too, but you don’t mean _half as much_ to him as you do to me.”

“Gerard—”

“So that whole time I was sitting there thinking of what I was going to do if you didn’t wake up and I had _nothing._ I couldn’t be here without you. I couldn’t _sing_ without you, and…and we both know I can’t keep a fucking job.” He tried to laugh but ended up making a sad, half-choked sound instead. “And then tonight your dad was there and…I know how much he means to you since he had his heart attack—and I _get_ that! I know what it feels like to see someone you thought was going to die. And I thought if I said something wrong and I offended your dad—if he told you he didn’t approve of me—you’d leave. I can’t handle that.”

“I told you, I’m not leaving.” Frank started rubbing Gerard’s shoulder, but his boyfriend hardly responded to the touch. “I get that you’re scared, Gerard, but I’m really not going anywhere. I need you—and not just because I got hurt or because I don’t want to be alone on tour. You know I love you. That’s not going to disappear because one of my parents doesn’t ‘approve’ of you.”

“Do you mean that?” Gerard asked, turning to meet Frank’s gaze. 

“Yeah. After all the shit we’ve been through—if I haven’t left you by now, you _have to_ known I’m not going to. I mean…” Frank turned away, breaking their long eye contact, looking down at the floor. “You…you killed for me. I can’t really dump someone who’s done that.” He tried to huff out a laugh, but couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Because you think I’d hurt you if you did or…” His voice was so uncertain, but still not holding any spark of fear or remorse for what he’d done to those men.

“I’m not going to lie about it—what you did _terrifies_ me. I’ll never look at you the same and…and _yeah,_ I _am_ scared that if…if we didn’t work out you might lash out at me.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Frank. You’re the most important person in my life. If I hurt you…” He trailed off, a strange, haunted look in his eyes. He didn’t need to finish. Frank understood.

If Frank left him, Gerard would just hurt himself. He did it the last time—locking himself into his car and nearly freezing to death—and there would be no one who could stop him from doing it again. 

It was a telltale sign of abuse—a boyfriend so dependent that he threatened self-harm in the face of a breakup—but it was different with Gerard. He didn’t do it to be controlling like other men might. Gerard was really that desperate. Frank knew he was the center of Gerard’s whole world—he always had been—so if he left, Gerard wouldn’t know what to do with himself. 

For Frank, it was the same. From the day he’d met Gerard in that bar, he’d been planning his life around him. The two years they’d been apart had been a long, drawn out death. Nothing Gerard did could ever change that. 

It was sick, Frank realized, to be so dependent on another person. It was unhealthy and wrong. But that didn’t matter. None of his other relationships had ever been as fulfilling as his and Gerard’s had been. Maybe they had more bad days than good, but when things did go well, the happiness was unrivalled. 

Gerard was his everything—affairs or no affairs, murder or no murder. 

Having nothing else to say to him, Frank leaned over and pressed a kiss onto Gerard’s cheek then rested his head on his partner’s shoulder. 

“I don’t want to be a secret anymore,” he whispered. 

Gerard tilted his head, resting it against Frank’s. 

“Then you won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wanted to do more with his parents' visit, but then my brain got jammed and I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do/wanted to see happen. So there will be more familial fluff once they go home for break. Then maybe a time gap--then I think it may be time for a Part 4 because 40 chapters is too many and I think Black Parade Era is deserving of its own fic. Am I right???


	34. We'll Keep it Running

_Chapter 34_

Frank sat in his bed at the hotel, staring at the bathroom door. Gerard was in the shower and there was no better time to call the number on the form his doctor had given him. The robot that answer asked for all his personal information before he was transferred to a different bot that prompted him for more info. Then he finally got a very impersonal voice recording that began reading his results. 

HIV: Negative

Syphilis: Negative

Gonorrhea: Negative

Chlamydia: Negative

Hepatitis A, B, and C: Negative

Negative. Everything came back negative. 

Frank let out a sigh of relief and hung up the phone as the voice recording told him whom to contact if he had any questions. He knew that he would have to be tested again for HIV in another few months, but in the meantime he was still so soothed by the negative diagnoses. Not only had he been spared from catching diseases from the men who’d attacked him, he also knew now that he hadn’t caught anything that had been passed from Bert to Gerard. 

He was almost so happy as to get up and go into the bathroom and let Gerard know even as he showered, but he kept himself contained. He was so relieved he felt like crying, and he didn’t feel crying over the excitement of negative test results was such a good thing. He would just have to be patient.

Things were going to be okay. He was still healthy—he hadn’t infected Gerard with anything… Everything was going to be okay. 

In another three months he would get tested again and if that came back negative too, then he could truly begin to get back on his feet and recover from this nightmare. He refused to let himself dwell on the span of time between now and his next round of tests, wanting instead to celebrate the small victory he had over his attackers. So far, they hadn’t stolen his life from him, or his health, or his partner.

Frank turned his head toward the bathroom door and smiled, waiting for Gerard to finish getting clean and come to join him in the bed. 

It felt like an eternity before the shower finally clipped off and he could hear Gerard singing to himself in the echoing room. Frank waited and waited, knowing Gerard was putting on makeup with how long he was taking, and started squirming around on the bed. He wanted to find a pose that was inviting—hoping that maybe Gerard would want to come help him celebrate—but not too inviting. He didn’t want to get Gerard’s hopes up for too much, but he wouldn’t mind some extra kissing…maybe some heavy petting.

Finally, _finally_ after Frank settled on a pose, reclined against the pillows, the bathroom door opened and Gerard stepped out, toweling his hair dry and still singing. As soon as he lifted his head and saw Frank where he lie on the bed—one of his knees up and bent, the other leg outstretched and spread open just a little bit—all of his sounds got caught in his throat and he just stared. 

“Hey,” Frank said, breaking the silence. 

“You look…happy,” Gerard said, working his mouth a few times after speaking as if his mouth had run dry at the sight. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Gerard drawled, his eyes darting from Frank’s face down to his spread legs and then back to his eyes, looking a bit guilty after letting his eyes linger a bit too long on Frank’s crotch. 

“I am happy,” Frank said, smiling and laughing a little. “Do you want to come lay down with me?”

“Yes,” Gerard said, sounding a bit uncertain as he dropped his towel onto the floor and climbed slowly onto the bed. He hesitated a moment and then crawled between Frank’s parted legs. 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat for a moment, not used to having someone over top him anymore, but he managed to flash a smile and fight the panic. Gerard wouldn’t hurt him. Today was a good day—a safe day. 

“Do you need me to move?” Gerard asked, leaning up to kiss the corner of Frank’s mouth. He had lip gloss on and Frank could feel it sticking to his cheek. When Gerard pulled back, Frank poked out his tongue to lick the corner of his mouth in order to get a taste of the strawberry gloss. “You’re in a really good mood,” Gerard said, swallowing hard as he crawled forward a little more, daring to let his groin press against Frank’s. 

The panic started mounting again, but Frank fought it hard. Today was going to be a good day. Gerard wouldn’t hurt him—and what parts of his brain weren’t trying to spiral backwards to that awful night in the parking lot were fixated on where he’d much rather feel Gerard’s strawberry-slick lips. 

“Yeah,” Frank breathed, leaning up to kiss Gerard on the mouth, adding tongue as fast as he could in order to get a better taste of the lip gloss. Within seconds Gerard was moaning and slowly rutting himself against the bend of Frank’s hip, his motions so gentle it was as if he were hoping Frank wouldn’t notice—even though Frank was pushing up against him as well. “I called the medical lab,” Frank said, breaking the kiss only long enough to get the words out before going back to sucking Gerard’s bottom lip. His partner moaned and started pulling away.

“I hope they had good news,” he gasped. 

“I’m clean,” Frank said, looking up at him and smiling. Soon, Gerard’s eyes lit up with the same happiness Frank felt and they went back to kissing. Frank placed his hand on Gerard’s cheek, telling his partner it was okay to kiss deeper and harder. 

Frank started to slip his other hand between them, trying to reach for Gerard’s groin to stroke him, but once Gerard felt the touch he thought Frank was pushing him back and immediately broke then kiss and pulled away. 

“Sorry,” he said, looking at Frank with genuine concern. It warmed Frank so much to see that type of empathy in Gerard’s eyes—even if it reminded him of that awful night.

“No, it’s fine. I was gonna…return the favor for once.” Frank tried to offer a smile but it came out looking forced and awkward. He hoped Gerard wouldn’t argue with him or try to decline. Frank _wanted_ this. It was just a handjob, nothing serious.

“Okay,” Gerard said, his eyes lighting up again as he leaned back down for another kiss. Frank did his best to focus on licking all of the strawberry lip gloss off his partner’s mouth as he fumbled with the button and zipper of Gerard’s jeans. His skin was still a bit damp and sticky from his shower and it made it hard for Frank to slip his hand underneath the fabric. 

Gerard let out a low, pleased moan as soon as Frank wrapped a hand around his length, breaking their kiss in order to place his forehead against the bend of Frank’s neck. After grinding against Frank’s palm a few times he started sucking on Frank’s pulse and licking hot stripes all the way up his throat to his ear.

Frank let out a few shaky moans and spread his legs a little more, allowing the hand that wasn’t supporting Gerard’s weight to work its way between their hips. Gerard had to abandon his throat for a moment in order to undo Frank’s belt and zipper, but as soon as he had the fly of Frank’s jeans open, he went back to kissing Frank on the mouth. As he kissed him, he started pulling Frank’s jeans and boxers away, exposing him. 

Frank hissed sharply and turned his face away, the panic striking him like a blow to the face. 

“Shh—It’s okay,” Gerard whispered, placing soft kisses onto Frank’s collarbone and shoulder, even though it was covered by Frank’s shirt. “It’s okay. Do you want me to stop?”

Frank stared at the covered window for a moment, trying to focus on the pattern on the hideous curtain instead of the nightmare flashing behind his eyes. Then he felt Gerard’s thumb glide over the slit of his penis and he was pulled back to reality. He wasn’t being hurt. There was no threat here. 

He moaned and turned back to Gerard, connecting their mouths and going back to working his hand up and down his partner’s erection. The first time Gerard let out a quiet mewl of pleasure, Frank began to feel reassured. Even with Gerard over top of him, his boyfriend wasn’t dangerous. Gerard wasn’t going to hurt him or take things any farther than this. 

Frank’s head lolled back against the pillows, letting Gerard return to licking and sucking at his throat—probably leaving marks that would later turn to bruises but Frank couldn’t be bothered to care. He didn’t want to be a secret—he wanted everyone to know that the person they lusted after belonged to him, and that Gerard would keep Frank safe from those who lusted after him. He wanted the marks to be seen—he wanted a scandal. 

Gerard rolled them over onto their sides, making it easier for him to keep his hand wrapped around Frank’s length. Franks wrist immediately felt relief by the change in angle and he was able to work his hand a little faster, extracting a loud gasp of pleasure from Gerard. It made Frank laugh, breaking their kiss and making Gerard go back to sucking on his throat. 

He wanted Gerard to work his way lower, but doubted it would happen and he wasn’t about to start pushing Gerard’s head down in order to get the message across. Gerard hated blowjobs and the lip gloss was mostly gone so the sensation wouldn’t be quite what Frank wanted. 

Gerard seemed to sense that Frank wasn’t as dedicated to the handjob as he had been and pulled away just slightly, breaking their kiss but continuing to stroke Frank’s cock.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Frank said, trying to lean back into another kiss.

“Is there something you want to do instead?”

“No—I’m fine,” Frank said, giving Gerard’s length a few more encouraging strokes. 

“You sure?” Gerard asked, kissing Frank’s throat again before nipping his earlobe. “I can do other things. Really nice things,” he breathed, keeping his lips pressed to the shell of Frank’s ear as he spoke. 

“No, it’s fine,” Frank said, his voice trembling as Gerard started swirling his thumb around his leaking slit yet again—teasing him with the idea of how good the tip of his tongue could feel. 

“You sure?” he asked again, drawing his voice out into an erotic moan. 

Frank couldn’t take it anymore. Gerard’s hands felt good, but his mouth was better—so much better.

“If you put on more lip gloss,” he panted, voice broken up by desperate moans, getting off on the idea of Gerard’s lips and tongue alone. 

“Mm, lip gloss? I never knew you liked that,” Gerard said, smiling against Frank’s neck. 

In a matter of seconds, Frank regretted speaking as Gerard pulled away from him and hurried into the bathroom. Frank wrapped his hand around his own cock, stroking it to keep him in the moment until Gerard stepped back into sight, running the wand that held the lip gloss over his bottom lip until it shined like glass. 

“Oh, God,” Frank moaned, having to stop his hand as he felt his stomach start to tighten. Everything about Gerard in that moment was exactly as Frank liked him—face flushed, eyes shining, mouth looking so fucking wet, his clothes a mess…his dick hanging out, hard and leaking. Just for Frank—all of it just for him. 

As soon as Gerard got back on the bed Frank crawled over to him and began kissing him on the mouth. Frank got a small taste of the lip gloss, but as soon as he tried licking Gerard’s lip, the other pulled away. 

“You’re gonna make me use up the whole tube if you keep eating it like that,” Gerard said, laughing a little. 

Frank moaned and locked his eyes with Gerard’s as the other man crawled down his body and wrapped a hand around the base of his erection. He gave it a few teasing strokes and then smirked before opening his mouth and letting his tongue glide over the slit just how Frank had been fanaticizing. 

Gerard continued to tease him, barely letting the tip of his tongue even touch Frank’s skin until Frank turned into a whimpering mess and started thrusting up against his mouth. All at once, Gerard took his entire length and swallowed around him. It didn’t feel much different having Gerard wear the lip gloss, but whenever Frank looked down his partner’s lips were just so shiny—looking so juicy and plump and _perfect._ It was all Frank wanted to think about. 

While Gerard was focused on bobbing his head up and down, Frank fumbled his hand over the night stand and grabbed the first cell phone he could reach. It turned out to be Gerard’s, but after a few tries Frank managed to get the screen to come on and swiped to unlock it. 

As soon as he heard the camera click, Gerard’s eyes opened and he looked up at Frank’s—eyes surprised but lips curling into a smirk even though his mouth was full. Frank snapped another picture and then let the phone drop down onto the bed, unable to really focus on more than one thing at a time. And he definitely wanted his full attention on the feeling of Gerard’s hot mouth. 

He could still taste the lip gloss on mouth from their brief kiss and swore as bright lights started flashing behind his eyes, that he would remember this moment forever. Whenever the bad memories would come, he would do his best to think of this instead. 

This was love—this was what sex was supposed to be, not violence, not fear. 

Gerard was relentless, though, once he got started and didn’t let Frank drop from his mouth for a second until he came. And even then, Gerard locked eyes with him and swallowed even though they both knew he hated the taste. 

“Fuckin’ love you,” Frank panted, staring at Gerard and reaching for him—to exhausted to sit up and pull him close on his own. It upset him when Gerard didn’t come to him and he let out a quiet whimper.

“No—no, don’t get upset. Go back to looking hot,” Gerard moaned. It was then that Frank realized Gerard was getting himself off, stroking himself furiously while kneeling between Frank’s legs. 

It was relieving to know he didn’t have to return the favor and that Gerard didn’t expect it. He didn’t want to admit to himself how frightening it was or how much it reminded him of that night when he and Gerard got too close, but this…this was fucking amazing. He got to lie there and watch, getting to take in both the look on Gerard’s face and the movements of his hand. 

He swallowed hard as he watched Gerard’s hand, licking his lips every time the head of his cock would come back into view. One day, hopefully one day soon, he would be able to return the favor and hold Gerard in his mouth again. But even now the thought made him anxious. 

That anxiety didn’t last long, however. As soon as Gerard’s moans started to become shrill and choked, Frank watched him close—back in the moment. The very instant he saw the first rope of cum spatter against Gerard’s palm, Frank shot his eyes up at his partner’s face—able to see the beautiful look of bliss and euphoria on Gerard’s face. It didn’t matter if it was by his own hand or Frank’s—Frank knew it was because of him. Gerard was thinking of him and lusting after him. 

“I love you so much,” Frank moaned, reaching out his arms again. This time Gerard complied and laid down on his chest, nuzzling his neck and chest. 

“I love you, too,” Gerard said softly, his breaths still coming in shaky bursts. “I just took a shower, too. Now you got me all dirty…”

“You know you hate to be clean,” Frank mumbled, reaching up to stroke Gerard’s hair. 

“Yeah…”

In less than an hour they had to be packed and ready to get on the bus for their next venue, but Frank’s eyelids were so heavy and he was content to stay there with Gerard laying over top him. It didn’t make him feel trapped like before. He felt safe. Gerard would protect him from anything.

“We should get up,” Gerard said, sounding drained and sleepy. 

“Yeah.” 

Neither of them moved and Frank stayed still, only moving enough to pet and play with the damp strands of Gerard’s hair. Before too long he felt Gerard’s body become a little heavier on his chest and his partner started breathing a little deeper.

Fuck it. Frank dropped his hands and closed his eyes as well. He was tired and the others would just have to wait for them to wake up before they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but I wanted it to stay positive. Next chapter should be slightly(?) humorous but a little angsty? They get to go home for a break! Yay!


	35. This Happens All the Time

_Chapter 35_

They were meant to be staying on their bus even though their trip from the New York venue to the first of the New Jersey venues was short, but Frank could stand being so close to home. His house taunted him—so close yet so far—and the more he thought about it the more anxious he became. He was fidgeting the whole time he waited to go on stage, even though he and Gerard had started drinking together in an attempt to keep themselves calm and collected. 

Even on stage he was more irritable than normal and ended up kicking whatever he could whenever he could. He kicked Gerard’s mic and got a dirty look for it, kicked Ray’s mic with no response, moved Mikey’s mic halfway across the stage and had his kicked to the ground by the other guitar player. The fans seemed to think it was funny, and maybe their cheers and laughter mixed with the booze was what kept making him do it until the voice in his earpiece told him to knock it the fuck off or the backup player would be taking his place on stage. 

Frank’s only retaliation was to play the last few songs of the set on his back. When he first went down, Gerard stood dangerously close to him—guarding him from anyone who might harm him while he was sick or hurt—but when Frank started kicking at him to get him to move before the disembodied voices of the managers yelled at them, Gerard took the hint and wandered away. 

After their set, Frank still felt no relief from the anxiety. It seemed each and every one of his skin cells was buzzing, making him more and more tense. Gerard sensed it, and when Frank lost his cool Gerard did as well. They made it through signing just barely, and while the other members of the band wandered off to find drinks and entertainment, Gerard and Frank went to the bus.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asked, ambushing Frank as soon as the door was closed and the security guards were gone. 

“I don’t know—I just… I can’t _be_ here, you know? I don’t want to be _here._ I want to go home. We play in Jersey tomorrow night. We _live_ in Jersey. I want to be home. I want to go home…”

“If that’s what you want, then we’ll go,” Gerard said, as if it were really that easy. “We can hire a shuttle service to take us back to our house, then get a cab to the venue. We wouldn’t have to take our equipment home or anything.”

“Yeah, but it’d cost a lot of money to hire a cab to take us that far…”

“But you want to go. I have money now. I can pay for it. If you want to go home, I’ll get you home.”

“I’m just being crazy,” Frank said, trying to ignore than anxious, gnawing feeling. He didn’t want to make waves or cause any more trouble on the tour, but he felt like he was about to fall apart and he didn’t want to stay in the cramped bus when his _house_ was so close.

“No you’re not. If you don’t want to be here, I don’t see why you should have to. We can go home. We’d have the whole day in the house to ourselves instead of a couple hours.”

Frank sat on the couch on the bus fidgeting for a long time before he let himself admit that if he stayed on this bus for five fucking seconds longer, he was going to go out of his mind. 

“If you pack up our stuff, I’ll go find the others and tell them we’re going.”

“I should come too in case they get pissed off or something—”

“No. Stay here. If they get mad, I’ll deal with them. You need to relax—of you really want to do something, call around for a shuttle service to come get us while I’m out. Okay?”

Frank agreed but was still reluctant to let Gerard go off on his own…he didn’t want to be on his own. His heart was pounding like crazy as he packed their bags, and as he spoke on the phone with the shuttle service his voice was shaking. He felt like a teenager trying to run away from home, packing while his mother was in the shower and afraid that at any second she would finish and come catch him sneaking off. 

He had their bags packed in record time even though there wasn’t much to grab, and was made to sit on the floor of the bunk room practically rocking back and forth from the nerves. Waiting. Waiting. He texted Gerard but got no response. He stared at his phone, waiting for anything to come through at all—either a call from the shuttle company saying they were outside or for Gerard to finally answer. Nothing. Nothing for a long time.

Then, after close to forty-five minutes, the door to the bus creaked open and Frank got to his feet. His heart started pounding a little harder and his mouth ran dry. He didn’t want to say he was afraid, but after everything that had happened he didn’t like to be caught alone. He had expected Gerard to text him before coming back, so when the door just opened Frank wasn’t sure who it was and was too alarmed to call out to ask. 

“Frank?” Gerard’s voice.

Frank let out the breath he never realized he’d been holding and made his way to the front of the bus.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at Gerard who had a look on his face mirroring all of the anxiety Frank was feeling.

“Everything okay?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah—did you find the guys?”

“Yeah. Mikey’s pissed, but no one else really cares as long as we’re at the venue by three o’clock. I got the address in my phone so we’re all set. Did you get a cab?”

Frank nodded and followed Gerard to the back of the bus. Gerard went through the bag Frank had packed for him and added some comic books Frank didn’t know he’d had hidden under his mattress.

“Should we really be doing this?” Frank asked as Gerard zipped his bag closed again.

“Frank, it’s fine. No one cares that we’re going home.”

“Except Mikey.”

“Mikey’s mad he didn’t think of it first.”

Frank sighed and leaned his head over onto Gerard’s shoulder. He hoped that by the time they reached their home, this bad feeling would have passed. All he wanted was to relax—to de-stress—but now he felt guilty for trying to escape. It was only one more night on the bus. Why couldn’t he just be patient? 

He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though. A few minutes after Gerard started leaning against Frank as well, Frank’s cell phone started to ring. The cab had arrived. 

( ) ( ) ( )

What was supposed to be his escape to a place of privacy and seclusion turned fast to a nightmare. When the cab pulled up to their house, Frank’s heart stopped dead in his chest when he saw that a light was on and there was a car in his driveway. At first he thought that perhaps they were at the wrong place, then considered maybe his mother was there tending to the house. 

But it wasn’t her car in the drive…

“What the hell,” Frank said, feeling torn between screaming and crying. He wanted an escape, not thrown into more drama. All he wanted was to go home and sleep in his own bed. He just wanted to be alone with his partner so they could talk and be together like they were supposed to. 

Gerard paid the driver but asked him to stay parked for a moment before he gave him his tip—because no one was supposed to be at their house, he confessed, and he wanted to make sure they weren’t stranded without a car if something went wrong. The driver agreed and Gerard got out of the car, telling Frank to stay put.

Frank hissed at him and got out of the car as well, making sure to stay at Gerard’s side as the headed up the front walk to their house. 

“You should let me take care of this,” Gerard said.

“Why? It’s my house too.”

“Because I’m not the one who has stitches.”

“I got my stitches out,” Frank muttered, glaring at the front door. He was angry now and whoever opened that door was about to feel his wrath…unless that person pulled a gun and shot him dead on his own front steps.

“When? You never made an appointment at the clinic in Illinois like you were supposed to.”

“I cut them out myself. It’s not hard.”

Gerard let out an irritated sigh and shook his head. He didn’t have to say he was angry to make Frank feel it. It hurt so much because all Frank wanted was to come home and _relax._ He wanted a quiet night with Gerard. Now, no matter what happened, they were going to be fighting.

Frank was half tempted to turn around and get back into the cab and go back to the bus. 

As soon as they reached the front door Gerard knocked— _knocked!_ On his own fucking front door!

Frank was seething—tired and hurt—and when he heard the locks cracking he was ready to throw a punch.

When the door opened, it only opened a crack—the chain lock still intact—and Frank wanted to storm forward and kick it the rest of the way in. Then the person on the other side started talking.

“Oh my god—Oh, god! Um… This is awkward. Yeah, Linda said you guys weren’t going to be home until _tomorrow_ night. Shit.” The door closed and a moment later the chain lock was unhooked and the door was opened all the way. There was a woman standing there—the one thing besides an animal that Frank _wouldn’t_ punch in the face for invading his house in his absence—staring in wide-eyed shock.

“Linda? You know her?” Gerard said, somehow keeping his cool when Frank was on the verge of collapse. 

“Yeah,” the woman said, grimacing and stepping back from the door—inviting them in. Inviting them in to their own fucking house. “She hired me to look after the house while you’re gone. She said you weren’t coming back until _tomorrow_ night…”

“Yeah, we came home early,” Gerard said, looking to Frank who was caught between rage and depression. He wanted to scream and cry in the same breath. He just wanted to be _alone_ with Gerard and _relax._

He wanted to come home to an empty place, not a house someone else was living in. He wanted to come home to a house that smelled stale but familiar—that smelled like him and Gerard, not like this strange, dark haired woman. 

“I…I guess I’ll finish cleaning up and get out of your hair then. Um…I have some dishes and I can put the blankets in the wash.”

“You slept in our bed?” Frank snapped. He felt so violated. How could his mother have hired someone to tend to his house and not tell him anything about it? And he knew he’d told Gerard he didn’t want to be a secret anymore, but he didn’t want some stranger running to the media and ratting him out either. 

“No—No, I slept on the couch,” she said, gesturing to the pile of blankets and pillow on the couch. 

“Frank, I’ll be right back,” Gerard said, patting Frank’s shoulder and then stepping back outside to finish paying the cab driver.

“So… How is the tour going?” The woman asked, her tone slow and awkward as she tried to force a nervous smile. Frank stared at her, unwilling to let himself speak in fear he would just start screaming. The last thing he needed was to have this strange woman going to the media with her insider information and a story about how cruel and mean Frank was and how he’d screamed in her face when all she’d been doing was cleaning. “Look… I was hired by Linda to stay here and clean so no one would break in. I’m really sorry. She never said you were coming home early.”

“She never said someone was living in my house either,” Frank snapped. What was there to indicate that this wasn’t just some crazy fan who had broken in and made herself at home? Anybody could figure out his mother’s name and claim to know her. 

The woman seemed to read his thoughts because she took her cell phone out of her pocket and pressed a few buttons before turning the screen to face Frank. 

“I have her number,” she said. And, indeed, the number on her screen was his mother’s. “We can call her.”

“I’ll call her in the morning. Right now, I think you should leave.”

“Right…” The woman said, looking around anxiously. When Gerard stepped back inside with their bags, he had a vicious, protective look in his eyes. It reminded Frank of how Gerard used to be back when they’d met—back when Gerard behaved like an attack dog toward anyone who dared to speak ill of Frank. “Let me just get my things then and…I’ll go.”

She looked at Gerard with fear, but also annoyance—as if they had inconvenienced her instead of it being the other way around. The woman kept passing them strange looks as she gathered her things—clothes, bags, and laptop among other things—but Frank refused to take his eyes off of her. He wanted her to feel uncomfortable. He wanted her out. This was his house, not hers. 

“Look, I think I know why you guys are really—mad?” She said, looking at them and searching their faces as she shifted the bag on her shoulder. “Linda hired me to watch the house. That’s it. I’m not interested in…blackmailing you or anything. I get that you have your public lives and this is your private life—and I’m _not_ going to say anything to anybody…about anything.” She kept looking back and forth between them, trying to seek out any scrap of friendliness or compassion. “Okay—seriously. I was _hired_ to be here. You don’t have to be assholes.” 

When neither of them spoke to her, she rolled her eyes, picked up her things, and left—slamming the door behind her as though she’d been kicked out. Frank hurried over to the window and watched her get into her car. He stayed there even after she’d driven away, not moving until he felt Gerard’s hand run down his back.

“Do you want to call your mom?” Gerard asked.

“No, I don’t want to call my fucking mother,” Frank snapped. He didn’t mean to lash out at his partner, but everything else had already gone wrong so he didn’t see the point in trying to salvage the night. He may as well just ruin everything on his own…

“Okay,” Gerard said softly. “I’ll go check our room and make sure everything’s…still there.” In his absence, Frank tried to calm himself down. It was just a housekeeper. She was just a housekeeper. He didn’t need to freak out. He didn’t need to ruin anything by having a panic attack. “The bed’s made but that’s it,” Gerard said when he stepped back into the living room. “It’s still dusty and everything. I don’t think she really went in there.”

“That’s good at least,” Frank mumbled.

“Do you want to come shower with me?” Gerard asked, his tone gentle, the complete opposite of how ferocious he had looked when he’d come back from the cab. Frank envied how fluid Gerard’s emotions could be.

“No…not tonight. I’m not really…”

“It’s fine,” Gerard said, flashing Frank a smile. “You just relax. I’ll be out in a little bit.” Gerard went back into their bedroom and changed out of his clothes. As soon as the bathroom door closed, Frank stepped into the bedroom, looking around at everything—the neatly made bed, the photo of them on their “first date” on the dresser—and felt out of place. It didn’t feel like his home. The person in the photograph didn’t look like him. 

The shower turned on in the bathroom, filling up the silence in the house. A few minutes later there was a quiet chirp from Gerard’s coat—his phone. 

Frank stared at the leather jacket for a moment, then reached for the pocket. When he had the phone in hand he kept turning it over, looking at it from every angle before lighting up the screen and unlocking it. 

Even though there was a blinking message icon at the top of the screen, Frank opened Gerard’s photo gallery instead. He flipped through the images, pausing on the one of Gerard wearing lip gloss with his mouth wrapped around Frank’s cock. He looked at Gerard’s eyes in the photo, analyzing them—trying to see something in them but not sure what. Mostly, Gerard just looked surprised. 

The next few photos were of random things—clothes, plants, equipment—then there was a photo of Frank from across one of the greenrooms. The next photo was another—Frank’s back facing the screen. 

During the last tour, Frank remembered that Gerard had been texting strange numbers asking for photos of him. Gerard had had dozens of texts coming in with photos of frank attached, all taken from a distance. Frank wanted to ask him about it, but couldn’t imagine how Gerard would respond to finding out about his snooping. 

Frank backed out of the gallery and opened Gerard’s texts without giving himself time to think about it. The first text was from Lindsey, asking Gerard if he made it home okay. Frank went back through their conversation, reading every text in reverse. 

They were discussing him—how he seemed “tense” and how he was “freaking out.” Gerard was “very worried about him.” 

He felt his pulse pick up when he read the words “rape” on the screen.

Gerard had told Lindsey. 

The pain of betrayal struck him hard and Frank clenched his hand into a fist around the phone, wishing he were strong enough to smash it—wanting to throw it across the room at the photo of them and destroy everything. But that wouldn’t help anything… 

Frank turned the phone’s screen back on and swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at the rest of the texts. He scrolled past the one that triggered him, trying to push it from his mind, but all the texts before it seemed out of place. He expected to see more about how he was acting crazy and how Gerard was worried, but instead the two were discussing Lindsey’s job.

He scrolled back down and reexamined the text.

“Is tht the 1 in 4 rape?” Gerard had asked. 

It wasn’t about him at all. Gerard was asking about a difficult patient who had tried attacking Lindsey the day before.

Frank let out a shaky sigh, embarrassed but relieved—the pain flooding away. He backed out of the conversation and looked at the other threads in Gerard’s phone. The next one under Lindsey was Frank, under Frank was Mikey, under Mikey was Ray, under Ray…Bert.

Frank stared at it a long time before clicking it. 

“Fuck you.” Sent from Gerard to Bert over two weeks ago. That was the last text.

Before that, “Ur a sick asshole. Do you know that?” From Bert.

All the texts above that were from Bert—seemingly drunk texts. They were all insults. All calling Gerard sick and twisted. Apparently Bert realized Gerard had something to do with the murders. 

Frank backed out of Bert’s conversation and clicked on Mikey’s instead. 

“Text me when you get in,” sent from Mikey. 

Everything before that was a mass of “where R U!?” and “Ovr here dumbass.” 

Frank went back and looked at the other lists. There were many unknown numbers underneath his brother and the other bandmates. Just like the last time Frank went through his phone, all the numbers were sending Gerard photos—photos of Frank.

“What are you doing?”

Frank’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with Gerard who stood in the doorway, towel in his hair and another wound around his waist. 

“Are you going through my phone?” Gerard asked, looking every bit as betrayed as Frank had felt earlier. 

Frank couldn’t think of anything to say, but stammering just made him feel foolish. Gerard started scowling at him and stormed over, grabbing the phone from Frank’s hand. When he saw what Frank had been looking at—the list of photos sent to him by a random number—he got a strange, uncomfortable look on his face.

“Why are you having people spy on me?” Frank mustered the nerve to ask.

“I just like to see you okay?—Why are you going through my phone!?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Yes it does! This is _my_ phone. I don’t go through yours.”

“Well I’m not the one who cheats.”

“Frank!”

“Why are you having people take pictures of me? Do you know how uncomfortable that is?—having you keeping tabs on me?”

“I’m not keeping tabs! I just like having pictures of you.”

“For what!?”

“For looking at! Why do you keep taking pictures of me when we have sex?”

“You’re the one who wanted to start taking pictures so don’t even—”

“I’m saying you made me, I’m saying I like to look at you! I have pictures so I can look at you.”

“Yeah, but whose even _sending_ these to you?”

“I don’t know—techs and stuff.”

“Techs and stuff? You walk up to random techs and ask them to take pictures of me?”

“Yeah… Sometimes. Why does it matter?”

“It’s _weird._ ”

“If it makes you uncomfortable I won’t ask anymore,” Gerard said, looking less than pleased with the suggestion.

“Good.”

Gerard looked back down at his phone and started working at the screen.

“You read my texts to Lindsey!?” He exclaimed, grimacing as he typed her a quick reply. 

“You told her I’m acting crazy.”

“Right now you are!”

“I don’t want you to gossip about me or _spy_ on me. Did you tell her I was raped too?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No! I wouldn’t do that!”

“But you’d tell Ray and your brother.”

“Stop it,” Gerard muttered. “You went through my texts to Mikey—what the hell, Frank?” Gerard looked at him hurt—sad instead of angry—and then set the phone aside on their dresser. “If you wanted to know something, just ask me.”

“Why? So you can lie to me?”

“I don’t lie to you.”

“You lied about Bert.”

“We just got home, Frank. I don’t want to fight. Please, let’s not do this.”

“Admit it—you lied about Bert. I asked you over and over and you _lied_ every time.”

“Yes—Yes, I lied, okay? I lied. I’m sorry. I love you, though, and we just got home. I don’t want to fight.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“Why are you doing this now?”

“Because it’s bothering me!—You told me all I needed to do was ask you if I wanted to know something, so tell me why you lied.”

“I didn’t want you to leave me! Frank, please. Please, _please, _we just got home. I don’t want to fight. I was stupid and I’m _sorry._ Please don’t do this.” __

__As soon as Frank saw the tears start welling in Gerard’s eyes, he felt himself calm down. It was immediate—coupled with a sense that he had won, he’d gotten Gerard to feel bad even though, at the moment, he didn’t deserve it._ _

__“I’m going to take a shower,” Frank said, standing up from the bed. He crossed over to the dresser and pulled out an old pair of pajama pants and then got a ripped t-shirt from the floor of their closet._ _

__He spent over half an hour under the hot water, forcing himself to relax and letting go of all the tension in his body. It didn’t take long for the guilt to take its place and by the time Frank got out of the shower, he had no anger left in him. Gerard was already in bed with the lights off and when Frank crawled in beside him, he could see that his partner’s shoulders were shaking from suppressed tears._ _

__“Gerard?” Frank said, reaching out with his hand still under the blanket to rub his back._ _

__Gerard stiffened but didn’t answer him._ _

__“I’m sorry… I don’t want to fight,” Frank said. Gerard still didn’t move or speak to him and Frank sighed. “It made me mad when someone else was here when we got home. I just wanted us to be alone. I’m not handing this well… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”_ _

__He thought Gerard was going to continue ignoring him, but slowly the other man rolled over to face Frank._ _

__“What were you looking for in my phone?” He asked, sniffing._ _

__“I don’t know… I was just going through the pictures at first, but…I started snooping. I’m sorry.”_ _

__Gerard said nothing, but scooted closer and slowly placed his hand on Frank’s hip, tracing the angle of his hipbone with his thumb._ _

__“What do you tell people when you ask for pictures of me?” Frank asked, closing the distance between their bodies and burrowing his head underneath Gerard’s chin._ _

__“Depends. Usually I tell them I want to see where you are or what you’re wearing.”_ _

__“What I’m wearing?”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“And you just like to look at me?” Frank asked, a little skeptically._ _

__“Yeah.” Gerard sniffed and nuzzled the top of Frank’s head. “It’s always…kind of exciting too, you know? To get pictures of you when you’re not around. It makes me happy to see you.”_ _

__“Really?” It was such a strange idea, to have the sight of him make anyone happy._ _

__“Yes. It’s like when you used to send me pictures when you were at work. It helped keep me calm.”_ _

__“Maybe I should start getting people to take pictures of you,” Frank said._ _

__“Is that how we’re going to tell people about us? Asking around for pictures of each other?”_ _

__“No,” Frank answered, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”_ _

__Gerard sighed and moved his hand away from Frank’s hip in order to wrap an arm around his shoulders as they lay side by side._ _

__“I don’t want you to be a secret.”_ _

__“We could get kicked off the tour if anyone found out about us.”_ _

__“Yeah, but I don’t want the band without you. You’re my partner. I want people to know that.”_ _

__“People can’t know that. Maybe some people would be supportive, but…a lot would probably just harass us. I don’t want you to be put through that. I’m not worth it.”_ _

__“You’re worth everything,” Gerard said, kissing Frank’s forehead._ _

__“Nah. I’m just—”_ _

__“No,” Gerard interjected, pulling away only so he could reach Frank’s lips to kiss him. “Everything.”_ _

__Frank sighed and snuggled closer. He didn’t feel like fighting anymore so he let it go, liking the closeness and comfort more than he liked getting his point across._ _


	36. Distant Phantoms

_Chapter 36_

Gerard woke up crying, his heart pounding in his chest, and his entire body trembling and covered in a sheen of cold sweat. He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there, and could still feel the agony coursing through his body as if he were still being attacked. 

He wasn’t in his bunk and that scared him. He’d grown accustomed to the claustrophobic darkness. He liked knowing there was only one direction from which he could be attacked. Now, in a bed, on his back, he could be attacked from anywhere.

Choking a little on his tears—wanting to scream but terrified of drawing attention to himself—Gerard rolled onto his side and immediately felt another body beside him on the bed. At first his chest tightened, causing another painful bolt to shoot through his chest, but then he recognized the scent of Frank. He was home, he remembered. They’d come home. 

It hadn’t been pleasant, but this was their house and he was safe here with Frank. His partner may have grown colder and angrier, but he was still the same man. It was cruel to lean on Frank now when Frank had so much of his own pain to shoulder, but Gerard couldn’t shake the images from his mind. He needed Frank. No one else could calm him like Frank did.

Gerard scooted closer and leaned over, pressing a soft kiss onto Frank’s cheek between his stifled sobs. He needed Frank awake but he was too ashamed to wake him up by shaking him or calling his name. He just kept kissing Frank’s cheek over and over until the skin became wet with spit and tears. 

Frank moaned softly and shifted around, turning his face away from Gerard.

“What?” Frank said sleepily—not bitter, not angry. Just tired. 

Gerard kissed Frank’s neck, the only skin he could reach and managed to make Frank giggle softly before he rolled over and draped an arm over Gerard’s shoulder.

“Hm?” Frank hummed, his nose close to Gerard’s. 

Gerard moved a little closer and pressed a kiss onto Frank’s lips which his boyfriend lazily returned while settling back into sleep.

“Baby?” Gerard whispered, desperate that Frank stay awake. He needed something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded so he couldn’t disappear into his own mind. 

“Hm? It’s okay. I’m not mad,” Frank said, still sleepy. “I’m sorry about earlier, Sweetheart. I’m not handling things well, but I’m gonna get better. I’m sorry.”

Gerard kissed him again, wanting to plead with him to realize that he _understood_ how Frank was feeling. He knew what it was like to carry that burden around and how anxious and tense it made him feel. But he couldn’t get the words to come out right. All he wanted was held and told that he would be okay, that no one would hurt him again. He knew he was supposed to offer that support to Frank now and that was what kept him from asking out loud, but Gerard kept kissing and snuggling closer until Frank finally woke up.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked, sitting up a little and petting Gerard’s hair. 

“Bad dream,” Gerard whispered, crying into Frank’s chest and hugging him tight.

Frank hummed softly in understanding and held Gerard tighter.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Frank said, kissing the top of Gerard’s head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Gerard could tell by the tone of his voice that Frank didn’t really want to hear about it—he didn’t want reminded of his own assault—so he shook his head and said no. He told himself that being held was going to be enough this time. He was going to lay still, keep quiet, and let the closeness speak for itself.

It didn’t matter what horror was playing out in his head—Frank was here and that was all in the past. 

“You can talk about it,” Frank said. 

“I just want to…feel safe,” Gerard said, pressing even closer and letting his legs tangle with Frank’s. His boyfriend laid back down and snuggled against him, kissing him on the lips and forehead until Gerard managed to quit crying. 

“It’s almost five…”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard whispered.

“No, it’s not that, Sweetheart. I was thinking… I know we’re tired, but what if… What if we went to the diner for breakfast? Say hi to some people…take your mind off things. Then we can come home and take a nap before going on the road. It’ll be light out by then. Easier to put those things behind you.”

“Maybe,” Gerard said, snuggling closer and kissing Frank’s chin. 

“We don’t have to, I just… I don’t know how to help. I can’t sing to you like you do for me,” Frank said, laughing a little. 

“You could try,” Gerard said, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m a shitty singer. You don’t want to hear that.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad singer.”

“Well, I’m not as good as you, so…”

“I think you’re better than me, but you just don’t let anyone know.”

“Nah… Do you want to go get breakfast?”

“Okay,” Gerard said, not because he wanted to but because Frank proposed it. Frank wanted to get out of the house—the house that had been invaded by someone else in their absence—and Gerard wasn’t going to keep him trapped. 

Frank moved to get up and Gerard pressed one last, quick kiss on his cheek before sitting up as well. He shook as he started dressing, even when Frank came to stand behind him and hugged him around the waist. 

“What happened, Sweetheart?” Frank asked gently. “Why are you still shaking?”

“It was just…a bad dream,” Gerard said, pulling on his jeans and making Frank let go of him. “I’ll be okay.”

“I love you,” Frank said, as if that could really help.

“I love you too,” Gerard said, looking and him and smiling weakly. 

“We don’t have to go out if you don’t want. I know you don’t like seeing strangers when…when you’re like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” Gerard said. “I’m kind of hungry and I miss the diner. It reminds me of…of when we were first together. I loved seeing you there. I kissed you there once, when I still lived with my parents. Do you remember?”

“Yeah… It was the day you almost got me fired,” Frank said, laughing a little.

“Yeah. I didn’t control myself very well back then.” Gerard pulled on a shirt and watched Frank get dressed in the dim light. He could see the scars on his back from where he’d been pushed into the pavement, maybe even dragged across it. They were faint, but much lighter than the rest of his skin giving them an odd glow in the blue, morning light. 

Both of their cars were in storage so they wouldn’t be stolen or vandalized while they were away, meaning they had to walk to the diner. It was still dark out and that made Gerard unbearably nervous, but he tried to pretend that he felt safe next to Frank. 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. It’s not much farther,” Frank said, and kept saying, over and over. They were holding hands and walked with hoods up so no one would recognize them. Gerard wished Frank would say something else, but even he couldn’t think of a new conversation to start. 

They dropped hands a block away from the diner but kept their hoods up until they were in doors. The hostess recognized Gerard from the band—the manager recognized Frank from before. While the girl fussed over Gerard and pleaded for a photo, Frank briefly hugged his old friend who had replaced him as manager. Gerard was always excited to meet new people—to have them shower him in compliments and praise—but today he was anxious and all he wanted was to hide behind Frank. But that couldn’t happen. Not here. Not in public. 

When Frank was finished being sociable and the hostess had taken as many pictures as she should—and after she had both Gerard and Frank sign the back of her employee work badge—they got to choose their own seat in the diner. The only other patrons were elderly and sipping coffee, up early out of habit more than necessity. 

“Sorry about all that,” Frank said to Gerard as they looked over their menus, even though they knew already what they were going to order. 

“It’s okay. It’s just part of the life, you know?” Gerard smiled for him, but it was forced and Frank could tell. 

“Was this… Are you sure you don’t just want to go home? I know you hate being out…”

“I’m okay. Really. Don’t worry so much.”

Frank hummed and looked back down at his menu. All Gerard wanted was to reach across the table and hold his hand—feel connected and show that he was as worried about his partner as his partner was about him—but he couldn’t 

He hated this. He hated being a secret.

If only there was a way for them to be together and for everyone to see it, but the label to stay off their backs…

After they’d ordered, after their food came, Gerard had already burned through three cups of coffee while Frank was still sipping at his first. Frank had ordered blueberry pancakes while Gerard picked at a vegetable omelet.

As he stared down at his plate, all he could think of were the awful images in his brain from his nightmare. He tried to block them out, but nothing worked. Even looking at Frank’s face—even when Frank would look up and smile at him—nothing helped. 

“What are we going to do while we’re on break?” Frank asked, seemingly just to start a conversation.

“Brian said there’ll be more videos we have to shoot in LA… He says if we don’t we’ll become _irrelevant_ by the time the next one starts.”

“Ugh. I’m _not_ staying in LA. I don’t want to go back to LA…” Frank didn’t like LA. That was where Gerard had first met Bert. 

“Frankie, we can quit this if you want. I just want to be with you. I don’t want to do anything else that’s going to put a strain on us.”

“It’s not putting a strain on us. I just…I’m tired. I need this break. I’m _ready_ for this break.”

“Me too,” Gerard whispered, looking back down at his plate and scraping his fork across the porcelain dish. 

All of a sudden a dark fleck appeared on his plate, followed by another and another. They left dark smudges on the white plate and the yellow omelet. At first, in his repulsion, Gerard couldn’t figure out what was happening. Then he heard Frank giggling and when he looked up, his partner was flicking the blueberries off his plate onto Gerard’s. 

“Real mature, Frank,” Gerard said, trying hard to look stern despite the smile breaking through. To prove his annoyance, Gerard picked up the herb garnish on his plate and threw it onto Frank’s stack of pancakes. His boyfriend just giggled and flung it back. Gerard flicked one of the blueberries back at Frank and it smashed against his cheek, staining his skin with a purplish smear. 

Frank let out a fake whimper and he wiped the blueberry away with his thumb and put it on his napkin. 

“I’m gonna tell Steve that my boyfriend’s beating me,” Frank said.

“I’ll tell him you brought it on yourself,” Gerard said, flicking another blueberry onto Frank’s face. This one struck him just below the eye and actually made him cry out in fear—a sound of terror that immediately turned into shrill giggles.

“Now I’ve got the bruises to prove it!” Frank said, smearing the berry instead of wiping it off. He looked ridiculous and Gerard pulled out his phone, taking a picture as Frank stuck his tongue out at him. Before putting his phone away, Gerard sent Frank a text and then set his phone down.

Frank ignored his phone when beeped and started wiping the berry off his face with his napkin. Gerard kept staring at him though until Frank rolled his eyes and took his phone out of his pocket. 

_If were weren’t in public I’d kiss your bruises better ;)_

Frank giggled and started blushing, and texted a reply. Maybe they couldn’t kiss or hold hands in public like a normal, straight couple could, but they could still flirt in their own, hidden way. 

Gerard’s phone buzzed a moment later and he quickly checked it. 

_Just a kiss? Mayb u shld lick me!_

_O baby I will. Soon as we get home ;)_

Frank’s face turned even redder and he tried to return his focus back to his pancakes. As soon as he got a bite in his mouth, he laughed and spit them back out. He covered his face as he laughed uncontrollably, bits of pancake still falling out of his mouth. 

Gerard took another photo of him, just to save the moment. Frank, hearing the click, uncovered his face and reached for the phone. 

“Stop!” he said, still giggling. 

“Why?” Gerard asked, holding the phone far out of his reach. 

“Because! I don’t want you to take pictures of me—gimme! Gerard, give it to me!” 

The old people were all looking at them as Frank crawled halfway over the table to reach for the phone, the hem of his hoodie dragging in his pancakes. 

“What’ll you give me?” Gerard asked, laughing as well. He wanted more than anything to lean forward and steal a kiss. He wanted it so bad. 

“Mm you know what I’ll give you,” Frank said, his tone sounding just a little seductive. Gerard knew better than to hang onto the words. He knew how hard it would be for Frank to reciprocate any kind of touch, but the idea still aroused him. He’d never hold Frank to it, but he wanted so, so badly to believe him. 

“Fine, you can have it,” Gerard said, handing the phone off to Frank who immediately turned it on and took a photo of him. 

“How do you like it?” He asked, smirking. “Huh? Not so fun now, is it?”

“Mm, you know I like to take pictures, sugar,” Gerard drawled, winking.

It worked to make Frank’s face go back to being bright red and he set the phone down on the table, allowing Gerard to take it and return it to his pocket. 

“I love you,” Gerard whispered.

“I love you, too,” Frank said, still giggling softly as he tried to go back to eating, avoiding the bits of food he’d spit out moments before.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank kissed Gerard’s mouth, then his jaw, then his neck, trying to focus on his scent and the sounds of his voice to keep him in the moment. He wanted to this. No one was making him. He _wanted_ to do this. 

They were home, they were alone, they had all the time in the world before they had to leave to go to their show. 

“I love you,” Gerard was moaning. “I love you so much, Frankie. You’re so good to me—so perfect.”

“Yeah?” It was all Frank could force out. He had his hands on Gerard’s hips, and Gerard was holding him in return. Their mouths met and their kisses grew deeper and deeper as they somehow made their way into the bedroom, sidestepping the whole way.

When Gerard made him lie down on the bed, Frank started panting for air—not sure if he was panicking or if he’d just gone that long without air. He watched as Gerard started undoing his belt for him, and unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down his zipper. It felt as if it were all happening in slow motion and he couldn’t catch his breath. Gerard gave him one last, deep kiss on the mouth, and then pulled away Frank’s jeans and boxers. 

“Oh, shit,” Frank cursed, closing his eyes tight and bracing himself for the moment Gerard’s mouth closed around him. As soon as he felt the heat, he moaned and bucked his hips upwards. Gerard barely even grunted—he didn’t even pin Frank’s hips to keep him still—he just started sucking and licking and doing every trick he knew to drive Frank completely mad.

It meant so much to have this—to have Gerard do this for him willingly after having a nightmare—but when he tried to say so, all that came out were slurred phrases that in no way linked together. He wanted to tell Gerard he was beautiful, that he was so good at this, that he deserved better than the life they had, but he said nothing. He just moaned and rolled his hips while fisting his hands on the blankets behind his head. 

Gerard didn’t let him last long, not bothering to slow it down or draw it out. As soon as he sensed Frank was on edge, he started sucking harder and bobbing his head faster until was cumming into his throat. Gerard swallowed around him, swallowed every drop. 

As soon as the delight came to Frank—the pleasure of knowing Gerard, who hated to swallow, now did it all the time for him—it faded. Now it was time to reciprocate. He _had_ to. It wasn’t fair to Gerard to keep putting it off and if he didn’t do this, Gerard would leave him for someone who would… Someone who deserved him a lot more than Frank ever could.

“Come here,” Frank said, gesturing for Gerard to climb over top him. He kissed him on the mouth, trying not to be put off by the taste or the memories it brought with it. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Gerard said, panting as he kissed and nuzzled Frank’s neck. 

Frank slowly lifted his arms and rubbed Gerard’s hips, reminding himself that this was Gerard—this was his partner, his lover, the person who would keep him safe from anything. 

“You don’t have to, Frankie. I don’t mind,” Gerard whispered. 

“I want to… I love you.” Frank made himself move his hands lower, and then reached for the front of Gerard’s jeans. He unhooked his belt and stalled for time by pulling it free of all the loops—drawing out his own torture. All he wanted was to lie on the mattress and relax—come down from his high—but he couldn’t be selfish. He couldn’t disappoint Gerard. 

Gerard kept kissing Frank’s neck, trying to get lower than the hoodie he was still wearing would allow. Frank tried to focus on that he undid Gerard’s jeans and pulled them down his thighs. This was love. This was what lovers did for each other. 

Frank rolled them over so Gerard’s back was on the mattress, but didn’t bother with kisses before making himself climb down his boyfriend’s body and settling over his knees. He was starting to feel sick, but he couldn’t let himself focus on that. 

He _needed_ to do this. He needed to prove he could still be the sort of boyfriend Gerard deserved. 

Except it was getting hard to breathe. He couldn’t get his lungs to take in anymore air and his head was starting to feel clouded. Every time he tried to take a breath, more panic mounted on his existing fear.

“Frank?”

He could feel those men on him. He could feel them breathing down his neck as they ripped him apart. They cornered him at the fence and beat him, dragged him across the pavement and stripped him. _Violated._

“Frankie? Baby, what’s wrong?” Gerard was crawling away from him.

He’d pushed his boyfriend away. He was driving Gerard away and soon he was going to have no one. They will have taken _everything_ from him. 

Frank was staring at the bed where Gerard had been laying even though the man had crawled away and gotten up. Frank could hear him zipping and buttoning his jeans but he _still_ couldn’t breathe.

Gerard had gone through a living hell. He’d had a nightmare of it that morning—just hours ago—and yet he was able to forget it and give pleasure like it was nothing.

How? _How_ could he forget that fast?

“Frank, you’re okay. It’s okay.” Gerard returned to the bed beside him and started rubbing his back. “Can you breathe? Just try to calm down. Come here.” 

Gerard started pulling on him and Frank’s first instinct was to resist. He pulled away and crawled to the other end of the bed, backing himself up against the headboard and wrapping his arms around himself.

How had he gotten this pathetic? Gerard had never even been this bad and he had a right to fall apart. All Frank had was one awful night. Gerard’s awful night had gone on _eight_ years.

“Baby… It’s okay.” Gerard was crawling over to him and Frank covered his face in shame, still trying to get air but only able to get small breaths. It was enough to keep him from passing out, but the feeling of suffocating never left. “Come here. It’s okay.” Gerard was pulling on him again, and Frank caved—letting Gerard do as he wanted. He found himself sitting with his back against Gerard’s chest, his lover’s arms and legs winding around him, keeping him trapped in a tight hug. “Just breathe. Okay? Can you feel my chest? Just copy me, okay? Just try to breathe slow. It’ll be okay.” 

Frank tried—he really did. He felt how Gerard’s chest moved behind him. He felt the slow, deep breaths, but he could only manage the short little gasps. The sensation of being strangled kept him in a state of panic—his entire body feeling as if it were on fire. His hoodie wasn’t helping, Gerard’s arms and legs and breath on his neck wasn’t helping.

“It’s okay. I promise. I won’t make you do that again. I’m sorry, baby. Please calm down. _Please,_ baby. I won’t hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Hearing the begging just made it all worse—Frank would scream if he could get enough air. He was starting to see flashes of light in his vision and he was terrified that he was going to pass out. 

“Hey—Frankie, look at this. Huh?”

All of a sudden Gerard’s cell phone was being pressed into his face and he didn’t want to look at it. He didn’t want to see photos of them making love in the past. He didn’t want reminded of the things he couldn’t do.

Only the pictures on the screen were from earlier at the diner—photos of himself with blueberry on his face, photos of him laughing and trying to get Gerard to stop taking pictures, a picture of Gerard sticking his tongue out at Frank after he’d stolen the phone back. Slowly, as the images flipped by, Frank started to feel the air coming a little easier and the bright flashes of light behind his eyes stopped.

“I like this one,” Gerard said, going back to the photo of Frank with a blueberry smeared on his face. 

“I don’t know…how we didn’t get…kicked out,” Frank wheezed, pressing back against Gerard’s chest. 

“Because we’re ‘celebrities,’” Gerard said, giggling because he didn’t take it seriously. 

Franked snuggled back against him, still struggling to get enough air but feeling a little better.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah,” Frank breathed. 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know… I just panicked. I guess… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I understand. You know that.” Yes. Gerard understood. Gerard understood that damage like this didn’t go away, and that his boyfriend was now next to useless. “I don’t want you to push yourself. It hurts to see you like that. I’m happier when we…when we just spend time together. We don’t have to sleep together for me to be happy.”

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Frank whispered, feeling dangerously close to tears. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want Gerard to think he was doing it for attention or pity.

“I’m not going to leave you. No one else is good enough for me,” Gerard said, nuzzling the back of Frank’s neck. “I love you. I’d die for you. I won’t leave.”

“I’m not…anything, Gerard. Not anymore.”

“You’re _everything,”_ Gerard said. 

 

Frank knew that arguing wouldn’t help anything. He gave up and laid his head back against Gerard’s shoulder. How had he let himself get this bad? 

“Let’s take our nap, Frankie. It’s only eight o’clock. We’ve got time to sleep still.”

Frank nodded and pulled away, curling up on his side over top the blankets. Gerard snuggled up behind him, wrapping a protective arm around his waist.

“I love you,” Gerard whispered, nuzzling Frank’s neck until Frank answered him.

“I love you too.” Frank wished he could roll over and put his head on Gerard’s chest—to be close in that way—but he couldn’t move. He’d only just regained control of his breathing and didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize it. 

“You don’t have to worry, baby. I’m never going to leave. I’ll be with you forever. No matter what. I know I messed up in the past, but… I’m over it now. I know I’ll never have anyone better than you—and I don’t want anyone but you. Okay?” He waited until Frank hummed. “We’ll get through this. I can take care of you, too. Just like you take care of me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Frank whispered. The words gave him enough confidence to roll over and place his head on Gerard’s shoulder. 

“We’ll get better over break. You’ll see. I’ll take care of you. We’ll go on dates again.”

“That’d be nice,” Frank said, snuggling into Gerard’s side. 

“I can work on my art in the studio again and you can bring me coffee—it’ll be just like before.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, sighing as he listened to Gerard’s pulse a little bit more than his words. 

“I’ll draw sketches of you…and the dogs.” 

“Mhm,” Frank hummed, nodding off to sleep. 

“I’d do anything to prove I mean it,” Gerard wished. “I’d marry you. Frankie, I’d marry you and let everybody see us. Will you marry me?” 

Frank, sound asleep, stayed quiet.


	37. Spike to my Heart

_Chapter 37_

Since it was their last show before the end of the tour, they were obligated to make it memorable. It was emotional for everyone—from the techs to the performers to the fans—and they were meant to portray all that emotion in their performance. Even though he wasn’t really feeling it, Frank thought it wouldn’t hurt to try—to put on a show the dedicated fans deserved. His enemies were dead; he had nothing to be afraid of now. 

So he tried playing like he used to, strumming his heart out on his guitar and jumping around like he used to. Only he’d gotten too enthusiastic and as they ended their final song, Frank leapt off of the monitor he’d been playing on top of for the last quarter of the song. He landed wrong and his ankle rolled, dropping him onto the floor—his ribs colliding painfully with his guitar just as the stage lights shut off for the dramatic ending effect. When the lights came back up, the fans all got to see him try to stagger onto his feet only to have his knee give out. He had to have looked like a bird with a broken wing, trying to take flight only to flop back down onto the ground with every attempt. 

Through the ringing in his ear and the directions being spat into his brain from his ear piece, he could hear a few girls screaming at him—asking if he was okay over and over until Gerard came to his side and pulled him up.

“You okay, Frankie?” Gerard asked, hard to hear without his mic even though he was speaking directly into Frank’s ear. 

“Rolled my ankle,” Frank hissed, struggling to stay upright on his own as Gerard guided him back to the middle of the stage so the fans could get their last look at them whilst pleading for an encore. There wasn’t time for an encore, the voice in their earpieces said. So just as they were about to shuffle off stage, Gerard turned and kissed Frank openly on the corner of his mouth—right there in front of everyone—as the lights dimmed out. 

For a moment it was like everything froze and all Frank could comprehend was the shooting pain in his ankle and the high-pitched cheers from the girls in the crowd. Then he was being pushed toward the back of the stage, limping with every step. 

“Did you break it? Is it broken?” A tech asked while another took Frank’s guitar.

“My guitar or my fuckin’ ankle?” Frank asked, letting Gerard guide him over to a wooden bench. 

“You okay?” Ray asked, coming quickly to Frank’s side and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hurts like hell,” Frank moaned, his head falling back as one of the stagehands came and started taking off his shoe.

“It’s starting to swell already,” the stagehand said.

“Is it broken?” Gerard asked, shamelessly pressing a kiss onto the side of Frank’s head, sitting next to him on the wooden bench. 

“Sprained maybe, but not broken,” the stagehand said. “I’ll get a wrap. Stay here.”

“Roll your ankle again?” Bob asked, coming over and with Mikey at his side.

“Yeah,” Frank grunted. “At least it’s the last show.”

The stagehand returned and started wrapping Frank’s ankle. “Keep it elevated tonight. If you have a lot of bruising in the morning you might want to get it checked out by a doctor, but I think you’ll be fine.” 

“Sure,” Frank groaned. His ankle was throbbing, his wrists hurt, his back hurt… All he wanted was to lie down but they still needed to get home before he could.

“Do you want me to go find you some ice?”

“No,” Frank said, sitting up and replacing his sock and shoe. “We’ve still gotta sign.”

“You can’t sign—you can’t even stand up. Come on. Let’s just go,” Gerard said.

“I want to sign. I’ll be fine,” Frank said, slowly getting onto his feet. He was able to take two steps before his ankle gave out again. Gerard tried to catch him but didn’t reach him in time. Frank’s knee smacked into the floor, sending more bolts of pain through his body, and he whined softly.

“Sorry, Baby,” Gerard whispered, pulling Frank up and helping to support him. Ray came to his other side and helped him as well, carrying him to the queue of fans wrapping around every free space hoping for a chance to meet him. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was worried about Frank. He’d hurt himself on stage before, Gerard didn’t like how much he staggered and stumbled—especially after standing for close to two hours to sign for fans and take photos for the press. He tried getting Frank to go to the hospital, but Frank refused. He just wanted to go home, and as soon as they did get home he collapsed on their couch.

“Can I get you anything, Baby?” Gerard asked, standing in front of the couch—still dressed in stage clothes—wringing his hands. Mikey had made arrangements to get his and Frank’s luggage back to them so they wouldn’t have to wait around after the show—possibly even having to sleep on the bus overnight again. 

“Water would be great,” Frank said, lying on his back and pulling his knees to his chest so he could take his shoes off. His right ankle was badly swollen and Gerard bit his lip at the sight of it. “Are you gonna get it for me or are you just gonna stand there?” Frank asked, not looking away from his shoe strings. 

Gerard whined and went to go fill their largest cup with water. As soon as Frank got it in his hands, he drank it as quickly as he could, a fair amount of it spilling down his chin and neck, soaking the front of his shirt. 

“Do we have any Advil or something?” Frank asked in between gasps for air once the glass was empty. 

“I’ll go see. If not, I’ll go get you some.”

“I don’t need it that bad,” Frank said, his strained voice saying otherwise. 

“I’ll check, Baby. Let me get you more water,” Gerard said, taking the glass from Frank’s hand and hurrying back into the kitchen. He filled the cup and returned it to Frank, then hurried into their bathroom to check the medicine cabinet. They had two different types of pain killers so Gerard brought Frank both bottles. “Which one do you want?”

“Give me one of each,” Frank said, sipping from his water glass this time instead of chugging it.

“Are you sure? Is that safe?”

“They’re over the counter; it’s not dangerous to mix them.”

“Are you sure?” Gerard asked again, not wanting to sit idly by while his boyfriend poisoned himself. 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Just open the bottles for me. My hands are killing me.”

“It’ll be okay, Frankie. You’ll feel better in the morning,” Gerard said, opening the bottles and shaking out one of each tablet into his hand. Frank took them both and swallowed them with a mouthful of water.

“Do we have any food?”

“I can…check.”

Their fridge had been empty when they’d left for the tour, but since Frank’s mother had welcomed a stranger to stay there, a jug of milk, a pitcher of tea, and various vegetable were stored there. Had there been lettuce, Gerard might’ve thought to make a salad for Frank but all he could see were celery and peppers. In the cupboards was a box of raw pasta, canned soups—all containing meat—and a box of crackers.

Gerard brought him the crackers and watched him eat the first two. Then Frank fixed him with an almost suspicious scowl, making Gerard look away.

“You don’t need to stare at me. I’m not going anywhere,” Frank said.

“I just…don’t know what to do,” Gerard said. “I want to help.”

“You did help. Do you want to sit with me?”

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“I didn’t say sit on me, I said sit with me,” Frank said, managing a small giggle and squirming until he was sitting up and there was enough room for Gerard to sit with him. As soon as Gerard sat down, Frank leaned back against him and munched on the crackers Gerard had given him.

“I really wish you would let me take you to the hospital, Frankie.”

“I don’t need to. I get hurt all the time. It’s not broken.”

“Are you sure? Your ankle is really swollen.”

“It’ll be fine. I just need to keep it elevated,” Frank said, his mouth completely full of crackers. He finished half of the box before he set it aside and scooted down further on the couch, lying with more weight on Gerard’s side.

“We’ve got two weeks before we have to be in LA for the video…”

“What song are we doing?” Frank asked sleepily, shifting around until he got comfortable.

“Ghost of You. We’re going to recreate World War II.”

“Who came up with that idea?” Frank asked, his voice becoming groggy. It made Gerard worry that maybe he’d overdosed on the pain killers, but he tried to keep his concern out of his voice when he spoke.

“I did. I thought it could be really cool.”

“Oh… Why World War II?”

“I don’t know… I thought it would be cool,” Gerard said, starting to feel a little self-conscious about the idea. It wasn’t as creative as his first one—the one for _I’m Not Okay._ Maybe Frank thought it was stupid…

“Oh, Sweetheart, I didn’t mean it was a bad idea. I’m just fallin’ asleep. I just meant, what’s your idea?”

“Well… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a very good idea.”

“All your ideas are good ideas,” Frank said, squirming around on the couch so he could hug Gerard and press his face into his neck.

“You need to keep your ankle elevated,” Gerard said, frowning when Frank let his foot slide onto the floor when he shifted position. 

“Then you should carry me to bed,” Frank murmured. “Then lay down with me.”

“I want to shower first.”

“No—just lay with me. I want to sleep.”

“I smell gross and I’m all sweaty…”

“So? I smell gross and _I’m_ all sweaty.”

“Yeah, but you’re hurt. You can’t stand up to shower.”

“Yes I can,” Frank spat, shifting around and then starting to stand, letting his box of crackers fall onto the floor. He limped to the bathroom and Gerard quickly followed him, helping him to keep is balance as he stripped off his clothes.

“You need to lie down, Frankie,” Gerard said, trying to keep his voice soft so Frank wouldn’t hear his panic. He was so afraid that Frank would hurt himself worse while trying to shower, but he didn’t want to fight with him. 

“Just don’t let me fall down, okay?” Frank said, sitting naked on the edge of their tub. After he unwrapped his ankle, he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. Gerard quickly got himself undressed and set out towels for them to dry off with once they were clean. 

He helped Frank to stand back up from the edge of the tub and held him as he climbed into the shower. Frank’s right ankle was badly swollen and he kept hissing as he put weight on it. 

“Are you sure it’s not broken, Baby?” Gerard asked over the stream of their shower.

“It’s _fine,_ ” Frank grumbled, wetting his hair and grabbing for the shampoo. Once he’d put some in his hand, he handed the bottle to Gerard who imitated him. 

“I really wish you’d let me take you to the hospital.”

“Don’t need a hospital,” Frank said. “Just help me get clean.”

So Gerard helped him wash his hair and kneeled down on the shower floor in order to wash his legs since Frank couldn’t lean over to do it himself. It was odd to be on his knees in the shower and not taking advantage of the situation—enjoying all the luxuries of having Frank alone and all to himself—but he made no movements to seduce him. Frank was hurt and tired. He didn’t need Gerard making passes at him. 

“Did I at least look cool?” Frank asked as their shower came to an end. He’d found himself unable to stand and was sitting on the shower floor, letting the water splash on him to rinse him off. 

“Look cool?”

“Playing on the monitor? Before I jumped off. Did I at least look cool?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Babe, you looked so sexy.”

“All the girls screamed when I fell down,” Frank said, laughing a little as he leaned back against the wall of the shower. Gerard shut off the water and draped a towel over Frank’s shoulder before getting out and drying himself off.

“Yeah, they did. They were worried about you,” Gerard said. 

“I’m glad they like me,” Frank mumbled, rolling onto his side and acting as if he were about to go to sleep in the shower with the towel as a blanket. 

“They love you, Frankie. Everybody loves you,” Gerard said. 

“Do you love me?” Frank asked, his eyes closed as he rested against the wall.

“Of course.” Gerard went into the bedroom long enough to change into his pajamas and to pick out Frank’s, and when he returned Frank had yet to move. “Are you okay?”

“I’m really tired.”

“I think I gave you too much medicine,” Gerard said, kneeling down beside the tub and ruffling the towel around Frank’s shoulders to get him dry. 

“It’s not that… I just…I’m sleepy.”

“You can’t sleep in the tub.”

“I know,” Frank said, cringing when Gerard moved the towel lower to dry his hips and thighs. 

“Sorry, Baby,” Gerard whispered, knowing Frank didn’t like being touched. 

“Gerard?” Frank murmured, sounding distant and half asleep.

“Hm?”

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course, Baby. I love you more than anything,” Gerard said.

“Even if I’m like this?”

“Frankie, I love you,” Gerard said, pushing Frank’s wet hair out of his face and kissing him on the cheek. “Nothing’s gonna change that… But you need to get up now so we can go to bed.”

“M’kay,” Frank said, slowly sitting up and taking the towel into his own hands. Gerard helped him get back on his feet and supported him as he got dressed in his night clothes.

“You sure you feel okay?”

“My ankle doesn’t even hurt right now. I’m fine,” Frank whispered, leaning heavily against Gerard’s chest once his clothes were on and wrapping his arms around his waist. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Gerard said, smiling and kissing Frank on the top of his head. “I’m so happy we’re home. I get to be with you all day.”

“Let’s stay in bed tomorrow. All day.”

“Okay,” Gerard said, giggling and guiding Frank into their bedroom. 

“If you get bored you can sketch me while I sleep.”

“I thought you said that was creepy the last time.”

“It was…the _last_ time. ‘Cause I was sleeping,” Frank mumbled incoherently as he climbed into bed. Gerard got him extra pillows to prop his ankle under the blankets and then shut off the lights. Neither of them had brought their cell phones into the bedroom or turned on an alarm. 

For the first time in months, they could sleep without having to be anywhere when they woke up.

( ) ( ) ( )

Spending all day in bed last two days. Frank was hardly able to walk at all their first day home and had no choice but to either lay in bed or on the couch. He chose the bed and Gerard chose to stay with him. Frank slept most of the time and Gerard took over making lunch and ordering pizza for them for dinner. 

As Frank had predicted, Gerard got bored with lying in bed and after trying to pen new lyrics didn’t work out, Gerard settled instead for making doodles and cartoons of Frank. He drew him as a vampire and as a mummy, then as a potted plant—once as a flower, then again as a cactus—then drew him as a superhero with an alter ego as a super villain. 

He thought about drawing on Frank’s face while he napped, but decided it would be too cruel and settled instead for drawing a new tattoo onto his arm with different colored sharpies. 

Frank didn’t notice the addition to his ink until the next day when he’d gone to shave in the bathroom. He was able to walk a little bit, but his ankle was still bothering him. It wasn’t as swollen, but he needed pain killers still. 

Just after lunch they were both preparing to go back to their bedroom for a nap when there was a knock at the door. Frank started squirming around on the couch as if preparing to get up, so Gerard bolted for the door before he could stand up and injure himself. 

When he opened the door he expected to see Ray or Mikey who had both panicked after not receiving any answers to their texts the day after tour ended, but instead it was the woman who had been in their house the first day they came home. 

She had a small, white bag in her hands and flashed Gerard a smile when he opened the door.

“Hey,” she said, grinning at him anxiously.

“What are you doing here?” Gerard asked, keeping his feet planted in case she tried to push past him and attack Frank. He knew it was unlikely to happen, but he wanted to make sure that no one hurt Frank while he was unable to get away or protect himself.

“I knew you guys would be home and…I felt kind of awkward about how we left things the other night. So I wanted to come by and introduce myself properly.”

“Why?” Gerard asked, searching her face for any signs of deception.

She just looked confused. 

“Well, Linda’s my friend… I didn’t want Frank mad at me. I’ve got your dogs in my car.”

“Who is it?” Frank called, fumbling to get off the couch again when Gerard didn’t open the door enough for him to see who had arrived.

“It’s…”

“Jamia—my name’s Jamia. I work at the salon where Linda goes?”

“It’s that lady from the other night,” Gerard said, ignoring her name. Until Frank showed her kindness, Gerard wouldn’t either. “She’s got our dogs.”

“Oh,” Frank said, sounding confused. “Well, bring them in. I missed them.”

Frank was limping over to the door and looked unhappy when he didn’t see his dogs anywhere near the woman on the stoop. 

“They’re in my car,” she said, offering him a strange, nervous smile as she baked toward her vehicle in the driveway. 

“I forgot to call my mom about that,” Frank mumbled, leaning against the doorframe for support instead of Gerard. When the woman got the dogs out of her car, Frank’s face lit up and the dogs seemed equally excited to see him—especially Pig who had seemed to have tripled his weight in the months they’d been apart.

Frank actually got down onto his knees to greet them, taking them both into his arms and letting them jump on him and lick his face while the Gerard took their leashes from Jamia’s hands. 

“I can see they missed their daddy,” she said, giggling as Frank praised and petted his dogs. 

Frank ignored her, greeting his dogs and then letting them go into their house. Gerard let go of their leashes once they were inside and helped Frank up onto his feet.

“Are you okay?” Jamia asked, tilting her head as she watched Frank stagger back into the house.

“He’s fine,” Gerard said, blocking her when she tried to come into the house.

“Gerard, come get their leashes off. I’m going to get their food bowls set out,” Frank said, limping his way into the kitchen and taking the dog bowls out of the cupboard. 

“What about—”

“Just let her in. She’s a friend of my mom’s. If you don’t…I’ll never hear the end of it,” Frank mumbled.

Gerard was forced to let the woman inside and closed the door behind her. She corralled the two hyperactive dogs and unhooked their leashes from their collars. 

“So how did you get…hurt?” Jamia asked, holding the dogs back while Frank poured a cup full of old food into their bowls. 

“I jumped off a monitor and rolled my ankle,” Frank said.

Feeling left out, Gerard made his way into the kitchen area and wrapped his arms around Frank’s shoulders as he put the food back in the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” Frank asked, squirming a little get away.

“It’s fine, you guys,” Jamia said, looking at them while petting the dogs who ate from their bowls as if they’d been starved. “I told you. I’m friends with Linda. I know about you two.”

“Doesn’t mean we need to make a show,” Frank said. Gerard expected Frank to glare at him or shove him back to accompany the words, but instead Frank turned around in his arms and kissed him quickly on the mouth before pulling away. 

“So… Mostly I came by to let you guys know I’m not going to go to the papers or whatever about you two. Like, I have my own life. I don’t need to mess with yours. I just needed some extra money and Linda offered to let me watch the house.”

“If you’re watching the house, why not watch the dogs too?” Frank asked, leaning against the counter.

“I did for a couple days but Linda wanted them back. I think she got used having them… She said something about a bunch of break-ins in her neighborhood and I guess the dogs bark and let her know if someone’s outside.”

“We should buy her a dog while we’re home,” Gerard said, standing as close to Frank as he could without touching him and doing anything he could to stay in the conversation.

“I don’t think we need to go that far. She’ll have the dogs back in a few months.” Frank clicked his tongue and then added, “In a few days.”

“You’re going back on tour that fast?” Jamia asked.

“Not tour,” Frank said. 

“We’re shooting a video in LA,” Gerard said, cutting in. 

“That sounds cool,” Jamia said, smiling and him and standing up from her place beside the dogs on the floor. 

“I wish we had longer at home before going,” Frank said. It put Gerard at ease when Frank looked at him as he said it. It wasn’t about being home—it was about being alone together. Frank wanted more time for them to be alone together. 

Gerard started to feel flustered and looked away. 

“How long will you be gone?”

“About a week. Maybe a little more,” Frank said. 

“Do you…want me to watch your house? I can sit the dogs this time too,” Jamia said. 

“Um…” Frank looked over at Gerard who struggled to keep his face blank. He didn’t understand why Frank was suddenly so nice to the woman after he’d been so irate upon meeting her the first time. “I mean, if you really wanted. I can pay you. I don’t have much, but… How much did my mom give you?”

“About a hundred bucks a week,” Jamia said, smiling shyly. “I clean and everything. I don’t just sit and rack up your energy bill.” 

“I could probably do…maybe one-fifty for the whole time we’re gone,” Frank said, looking at Gerard again as if wanting his input. Gerard didn’t know why he bothered. Frank seemed to already know what he wanted to do.

“I was working on a sketch so…I’m gonna go,” Gerard said, resisting the urge to kiss Frank one last time before leaving the kitchen. 

It wasn’t his intention to get Frank to follow him, but as soon as he was in is little studio, sat at his desk, Frank placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, Baby. I just… You were talking. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“You’re not in the way. Please, Gerard, don’t do this to me. She’s a friend of my mother’s. I can’t be rude to her—I can’t just throw her out. And we need someone to pick up the mail and watch the dogs.”

“I know,” Gerard said.

“Please. I don’t want you mad at me. I can’t that right now.”

“I’m not mad,” Gerard said, turning to look at Frank. His boyfriend looked pained and it made Gerard feel guilty. It hadn’t been his intention to hurt him.

“If she makes you uncomfortable, I’ll ask her to leave.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, I just… You know I don’t do so well meeting people. Not…not outside of the venues anyway.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with it? I really don’t want to make you mad.”

“I’m fine. Just…just don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Frank asked, blinking a few times in confusion.

“Nothing,” Gerard said, shaking his head quickly. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing. I’m tired. I just… We need more rest.”

“Gerard, you can tell me. Don’t what? What don’t you want me to do?”

“It’s nothing… Just don’t, you know… Replace me.” Gerard flashed a smile as he said it, hoping Frank would think it a joke instead of a telltale sign of his horrible dependency and lack of confidence. Insecurity was unattractive. He didn’t want Frank to leave him for a girl his mother obviously approved of.

“Gerard, she’s pretty, but she’s not you. She’ll never be you. And I love you,” Frank said, leaning down and kissing Gerard on the mouth slowly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Gerard said, sighing softly and kissing Frank again. 

“After she leaves, do you still want to take a nap with me?” Frank asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe…maybe we could do more.”

“You’re not… You don’t want that,” Gerard said, smiling again to hide his discomfort. He didn’t really want to calm Frank down from another panic attack.

“Well I thought…maybe I could just be on top like normal. Maybe it’ll help get those things out of my head.” His eyes looked haunted for a moment—only a moment—and then he looked Gerard in the eye again and smiled. “What do you think?”

“If you want to,” Gerard said, trying not to sound too eager. It was too soon, no matter what position they were in. But he would have to let Frank find that out on his own.

And maybe he’d find out Frank wasn’t as weak as him. Maybe Frank would be fine and things would go back to normal. 

Or maybe Frank would just stay in the living room with that woman and forget about him…


	38. Epiolgue

_Chapter 38_

Frank didn’t like that Gerard had refused him the night before, and the night before that. He now knew what it felt like to be turned down by the person who was supposed to support his recovery, and it hurt like hell. He was trying to show Gerard that he was feeling better, that he’d put at least some of that pain and fear behind him, and that he was ready to get back to where they’d left off—to enjoy their break before the video shoot and the next tour. But Gerard didn’t want to accept it. Gerard wouldn’t let him get better.

Gerard just wanted to hover and coddle and get under foot. It was nice to be looked after, but Frank didn’t want babied. He hated how much of a hypocrite that made him, too. 

Gerard barely left him for a minute—if Frank wanted to read in bed, Gerard wanted to lie beside him and sketch. Frank liked the closeness and he liked that Gerard wanted to take care of him—bring him drinks and food when he wanted it—but he wished that when he rolled over to get kisses, Gerard reciprocated with a little more passion.

Ever since Frank had proposed they try to move past their messy handjobs and blowjobs, Gerard quit accepting any of Frank’s advances. It _hurt._ It hurt like hell.

“I’m bored,” Frank said, lying on his back in bed, his ankle still elevated to keep the swelling down. He probably should’ve gone to the hospital for it, but he didn’t want to go. It got a little better each day and all a doctor could do was recommend what he was already doing—avoid putting weight on it, keep it elevated, and occasionally add ice.

“Want me to go into town and rent us some movies?”

“No…”

“What do you want to do?” Gerard asked, setting his sketchbook aside and rolling onto his side to look at Frank.

“Mm…I don’t know,” Frank said, rolling onto his side as well and leaning over to kiss Gerard on the lips. His boyfriend smiled at him, then started kissing back gently. It surprised Frank that he was actually reciprocating when the past few days he’d avoided doing anything that might even lead to intimacy.

“I think you do know,” Gerard said, smirking a bit as he rolled onto his back—keeping his eyes trained on Frank who slowly moved to sit on top of him. He rubbed his hands down Gerard’s sides, stroking the curve of his hips and letting his fingertips drag along the waistband of his jeans. 

“Yeah?”

“You want to?” Frank asked, leaning down for a kiss. Gerard reached up to put his hands on Frank’s hips, pulling them down a little harder—trying to get Frank to scoot forward a little more. 

“Yeah—you’re gonna be on top right? Make me feel good?” Gerard asked, his eyes fluttering a little with pleasure as Frank slid forward and rutted against him. 

Frank hummed affirmatively and rolled his hips a little, trying to get Gerard to moan for him. All he got was a small gasp and a smile, but it was good enough for now. Frank scooted back and started unbuckling Gerard’s belt, his hands were shaking a bit but he tried to tell himself it was from anticipation, not fear. He wanted to stay in the moment—there was nothing to be afraid of if he was on top, if he was in charge—and he refused to entertain any of the memories that flickered in his mind. He was here. He was going to stay right _here._

Once Gerard’s belt and zipper were undone, Frank climbed off of Gerard’s hips and started pulling his jeans down his thighs. Gerard had to finish taking them off himself and Frank noticed then that Gerard was shaking as well. He was only half hard and when he caught Frank staring, he started palming himself through his boxer briefs in an attempt to make himself a little bigger.

“I love you so much—you look so good,” Gerard said rapidly, reaching over and trying to help Frank take off his own jeans. Frank pulled away a little but smiled as he tried to cover up his nerves. 

He decided not to take his shirt off and climbed back over top Gerard’s body, leaving his underwear on as well, and rutting himself against the bend of Gerard’s thigh. He fixed his lips to Gerard’s neck and started suckling and nipping—holding the skin between his teeth and pulling back until he got Gerard to moan. Gerard started grinding his hips up against Frank’s and fighting to kiss him on the mouth. 

When Frank finally moved up to kiss his lips, Gerard grabbed his head with one hand to hold him in place and quickly added tongue. Frank moaned and started grinding against him as well, swirling his tongue around Gerard’s and sucking it until his lover’s body twitched against him. 

“Fuck, Frankie—I’m ready. I’ve missed this,” Gerard panted, seizing Frank’s hips with both his hands and sliding his palms downward and dragging the hem of Frank’s boxers down with them. 

Frank finally squirmed away and took off his boxers, watching as Gerard tried to remove his own underwear a bit too hastily and got them tangled on his ankles. Frank paused to laugh at him, then leaned over to help, throwing the green boxer briefs aside before spreading Gerard’s ankles and crawling between his thighs. He stopped when Gerard’s erection was jabbing into his abdomen and smiled down at Gerard who was breathing heavy. 

“I really want to do this, Baby,” Gerard moaned, staring at Frank with dark eyes. “I’ve missed you—I’ve missed you so much.” He was saying it in an attempt to help talk Frank up, to give him the confidence and the drive, but he was really only making Frank more nervous. Gerard missed him. Gerard _needed_ him. If Frank proved he couldn’t give him what he wanted, Gerard was going to leave for someone who could—someone who was willing.

“I missed you, too,” Frank said, crawling forward a little more in order to get another kiss. As soon as Gerard added tongue, Frank started rolling his hips again—almost wishing they could get off like this and he didn’t have to take it to the next level. 

Knowing he couldn’t tease forever, Frank reached over toward the nightstand, grabbing for the bottle of lube Gerard had forgotten to take on their second leg of the tour. One he had the bottle, he felt around for their box of condoms, but when he grabbed it was empty and he didn’t feel like getting up from the bed to look around the apartment for one. Gerard wouldn’t care—he hated condoms half the time anyway. 

As soon as Frank uncapped the lube, Gerard started panting again and opened his legs wider. His right hand came down and wrapped around his erection, stroking it slowly as he watched Frank slick up his fingers. He started whimpering even before Frank lowered his hand and sucked in a sharp breath as soon as Frank pressed one finger inside. 

He moved slow, listening to Gerard’s desperate whining. Every time he thrust his finger deeper, Gerard moaned a little louder even though he couldn’t be getting that much pleasure from one little finger. Before long he added a second and started scissoring them, liking it a little when Gerard winced and hissed. 

“Missed you,” Gerard whispered, still stroking himself and fisting his other hand in the pillow behind his head. “Fuck, Frankie—Fuck, missed you so much. Want to feel you. I’m ready. Just—Just, oh God!” 

Frank added a third finger, just to shut him up. He started working his fingers a little faster and moved them around until he found Gerard’s prostate. Once he pressed against it, his lover started moaning and arched his back against the bed. 

Gerard started moaning a little louder and faster, as if he were trying to make as many sounds at once as he could. Frank tried to focus on that—tried thinking of how Gerard used to be, how _he_ used to be before the touring and the band. Before the memories came back—back when Gerard wasn’t really himself at all. 

Frank pulled his fingers away and poured more of the lube onto his hand. Gerard was trembling on the bed as he watched, chewing his lip and moaning in anticipation. He took his hand away from himself and fisted it in the pillow on the opposite side of his head. 

He slicked himself up and then leaned down for a kiss. Gerard quickly wrapped his arms around him and kissed him deeper—trying his hardest to show his love in the most physical, carnal way he could. Frank tried to let himself get caught up in it, but his mind was still torn. He wanted to do this—and not just because he felt like he had to—but it was as though his memory was trying to ruin everything. 

He was on top—he was in charge! There was no reason to feel threatened or trapped. 

Gerard kept kissing until Frank pulled away and lined himself up, closing his eyes as he started to press inside. Almost immediately a surge of pleasure rushed down his spine and he pushed forward a little faster, delighting in Gerard’s shrill gasp. 

He had the power back now. If it weren’t for him, Gerard never would have made it this far—Gerard wouldn’t even exist. He wouldn’t be exaggerating his moans and gasps of pleasure. If not for Frank, Gerard would be dead—many times over dead. If he didn’t die after the auction all those years ago, he would’ve died by his own hand or through his vices. And, of all the men Gerard could chose to love and give himself to, he chose to stay with Frank—to do his best to be faithful to Frank. 

Frank began to set up a quick pace, watching as Gerard’s eyelids fluttered and his mouth gaped. It made Frank think of the photos they used to take of each other before the bands—the photos he would look at while on break at work. 

“Fuck, Frankie—fuck. I love you so much,” Gerard moaned, rocking his hips slightly while digging his fingers into the pillow under his head. “Feels so good. Mm, I missed this.” He slowly pulled one of his hands away from the pillow and wrapped it around his own length, stroking himself quickly. 

Frank let out a deep groan as he felt Gerard’s body tighten around him, his lover trying to do everything he could to make it feel better for him. He shifted his angle slightly, trying to strike the one place that would turn Gerard’s fake moans into true noises of bliss. Once he struck it, Gerard cried out and the hand he had gripped on the pillow seized Frank’s back. Gerard tried not to scratch—the pads of his fingers pressing into his ribs hard enough to leave bruises—but the second time Frank hit his mark, Gerard’s fingers curled. 

The sharp sting reminded Frank briefly of how the rough pavement of the parking lot had torn up his shoulders and back that night—but he refused to focus on it. He wasn’t in that place anymore. He was in bed—in _his_ bed—with his lover, his boyfriend. Rather than dwelling on the pain, Frank drew on older memories—the first time Gerard had scratched him. He’d apologized and tried to stop it, but couldn’t help himself. It was something that hadn’t ever changed about him. Even after he’d repressed the memories, Gerard’s instinct when it came to sex was to hold on as tight as he could and _scratch._

As if he were afraid Frank might try to get up and leave him, hard and wanting.

Frank didn’t last long—not when his mind kept spinning back and forth between memories of Gerard and the times they’d been together, all the ways they’d been together. Showers, bath tubs, hotels, backseats of cars, bathroom stalls, hallways, janitor closets… Anywhere, any way Frank wanted it. 

Gerard’s breaths began to turn choked, and he was pumping his erection faster, body shaking underneath Frank’s. Frank relished in the sight, moaning as he watched his boyfriend come undone. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard lie curled up against Frank’s chest, holding onto him tight and fighting sleep. He had his lover back. He was getting Frank back, and that made him so happy. He would’ve done anything in the world to have this and he could hardly believe that it had happened. He expected Frank to back down or get scared half way through and stop. He had imagined it going wrong in so many ways, and it made him so proud that Frank was able to go through with it. 

He had Frank’s trust back—he had his love and warmth and everything else, too. 

Even when it was over, Frank was still staying close. He didn’t push Gerard away or try to get his space. He laid there and let Gerard snuggle up to him, kissing his head every now and then as Gerard nuzzled his chin and neck. 

Gerard couldn’t shake the thought that he’d done well—that he’d been good and done his job. He made Frank feel safe again. There were no bad guys left to hurt him and Frank had reclaimed everything they’d stolen from him. (In Gerard’s eyes, at least.)

“Sweetheart?” Frank whispered.

“Yes?” Gerard asked, tilting his head to look his partner in the eye. Frank watched him a moment and then started stroking his hair. 

“Do you think…we’ll make it on the next tour? I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” Frank said, sighing and shaking his head.

Gerard hummed and squeezed Frank a little tighter in his arms. 

“We’ll be fine,” Gerard said softly. “I love you. I’m not…going to do anything to hurt you again. I promise, Frank. I mean it. Where ever you go, I’m going to go. I won’t go anywhere without you. I’ll keep you safe and…and you can keep me safe. And we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah?” Frank asked, looking hopeful but not at all convinced. 

It was Gerard’s own fault that Frank doubted him. If not for him—if not for his inability to stay committed and worthy of trust—Frank never would’ve even gotten hurt in the first place. If he hadn’t cheated with Bert, the back-up players never would’ve even had Frank on their radar. 

“I promise. I’m not going to make any more mistakes. I love you so much. I owe my life to you—I don’t know what I’d do without you. Just give me one more chance to prove it. I promise I won’t let you down.” 

Frank smiled at him, a bit sadly, and then kissed the top of Gerard’s head.

“Okay,” he whispered. 

Gerard snuggled him a little more and closed his eyes. He swore he’d never let himself hurt Frank again. This was his world and he wanted it to stay this way—cuddled safely into Frank’s chest. No one loved him like Frank did and no one else ever would. 

No one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but I have more plans for Part Four than I have for this installment so I needed to end it to move on to the better, more eventful things! It may be a while before a chapter one is posted, but I will not forget!
> 
> Thank you so much for coming along on this journey and giving me your unending support! I appreciate it more than you could even imagine! 
> 
> If you're a little exhausted after this installment and want to know what's in store for Part Four before you begin reading, here's a couple sneak peaks:
> 
> Trainer Returns  
> The Masters Return  
> Frank Doesn't Know What He Got Himself Into

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I'm excited to be working on Part Three when I never anticipated writing a Part Two. I hope you all like it so far!


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